


The Devil's Due

by Vault_of_Glass



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Neruda Poems, Not all in that order, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Smut with heart, So much smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 138,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River wasn't made for this world, that much is clear the moment MacCready first sees her. But she wants her son back, she wants revenge, and she needs a gun at her back. How much trouble could a pre-war little thing like her get them into?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. End of an Era

Separation

_Your absence has gone through me_  
_Like thread through a needle.  
_ _Everything I do is stitched with its color._

\- W.S. Merwin

* * *

River leaned heavily on the shovel at her side, her arms sore, hands calloused and cramping after digging for so long - but it didn't feel right to leave the task to anyone else, no matter how exhausted she was. Nate was the father of her son, the love of her life. She fully expected to be eighty-sixed any day now, from some raider's shitty pipe pistol or a mine she discovered too late or some other wasteland horror she hadn't even heard of yet, and hopefully find herself in some life after death where he would be waiting for her. She wanted his body resting somewhere peaceful before that happened, so his bones could finally have some form of respite. Her brilliant, beautiful, hard-working man.

She was scared, and weary, and so very, very alone. She needed Nate now more than ever, and that was the worst part of losing a spouse, that they were the one you would've gone to for comfort, and now without Shaun, she had nothing. She had no one.

"You gonna be all right?" It was the first time Preston had spoken up since he'd helped her carry Nate's body out here.

River nodded absently, without looking up. "Thanks, Preston. I'll take it from here." She'd have to thank him again properly later, when her head was clearer. It was a hell of a thing to ask someone to do, but he'd jumped at the chance to repay her the favor of escorting them safely to Sanctuary.

The Minuteman lingered a moment longer, obviously wanting to comfort her somehow but not knowing how. Eventually he turned back for town. "You know where to find me."

She cleared her throat once he was out of earshot, staring down at the freshly disturbed dirt over what was now Nate's final resting place. "I'm sorry about the grave," she began, testing the sound of her voice in the quiet evening air. "You should be buried in a military graveyard somewhere, dressed up all nice in that gray suit. You know the one. Looked so damn good on you." She eased herself onto the ground, crossing her legs in front of her. Speaking to him like this tore the wounds right back open, still fresh and raw like it had been only yesterday that she'd watched him die, instead of god only knows how long ago. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop them," she whispered, tears wavering in her voice. Her hands curled into fists. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Nate. I wish you were here to help. Or that they would've killed me instead. You'd know how to get Shaun back." _But this pain. . . ._ She wouldn't have wished it on him for the world.

"Then again, maybe it's for the best. You'd lose it if you saw what they did to Fenway." River slumped forward onto the dirt, ignoring the way it clung to her skin and hair. "God. Who else is gonna laugh at my horrible jokes? How am I gonna find Shaun on my own? We were supposed to raise him together. He's . . . he's gonna be all temper and a bad sense of humor if it's just me." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, this isn't much of a eulogy. I'll try and think of a better one sometime. Come back later when I don't look a complete mess."

River got shakily to her feet, picking the shovel up where she'd dropped it. "I'm gonna find him, all right? Kid's got the best damn genes in this whole fucked-up world. Humanity can't afford to lose him now." She paused, blinking past the tears that were flowing steadily now down her cheeks. "I love you. Okay? I love you." Another pause. "And I'm not gonna move on, by the way, so don't even bring it up. I know we talked about it, but you're wrong. You're it for me, and I'm gonna be a lonely spinster for the rest of my days." _Now things are just getting sadder_. She smoothed out one last lump in the dirt of Nate's grave with her shoe and left, before she ended up staying there all night.

She made it until about three in the morning before she couldn't take it anymore and dragged her sleeping bag all the way back up the hill so she could fall asleep with her husband one last time. For the first time since stumbling out of the vault, she slept dark, dreamless sleep. For the first time, she didn't watch him die all over again in her dreams.

 _Let this be a lesson to you, Proud Mary,_ her mother had advised her once, cold and emotionless even as she stood crying over her father's deathbed. _Death is easy. Life is hard._

She fucking hated it when her mother was right.

* * *

"The fuck you lookin' at, MacCready?"

"None of your damn business." He dropped the object back into his bag and kicked it swiftly under his bed, fixing the other Gunner with a glare. Jansen or Thompson or something like that, MacCready couldn't remember; he'd been calling him Fat Lip in his head. Easier to remember and it made him smile every now and then. But he certainly wasn't smiling now as Fat Lip closed in on him, making to reach for his bag.

"Looked like a toy. You playin' with toys over here?"

MacCready reacted too quickly to control himself - _surprise, surprise, everybody: MacCready loses his temper once again!_ \- grabbed Fat Lip by the arm and flipped him over hard, face down on the cold concrete. He had his boot between the man's shoulder blades and his arm yanked back on the cusp of dislocation, the barrel of his pistol at the back of Fat Lip's neck. "How many times I gotta tell you not to _fuck_ with me?!" _Aaand there's another broken promise. Why can't I get my life in order?_

"MacCready!"

He growled, tracking Winlock's approach out of the corner of his eye. He stepped off of Fat Lip, who got to his feet and came immediately for him again.

"That's _enough_ , Johnson!"

Johnson spat onto MacCready's boot, the last-ditch effort of a man who'd gotten his ass kicked.

"All right, ladies, nothin' to see here," Winlock dismissed the gathering crowd before leaning over MacCready. He had a good six inches or so on his height and the shoulders of a damn mutant. If MacCready wasn't so stupid or so stubborn, he might've let such a thing intimidate him. "If I see you causin' trouble one more time, MacCready, I'm gonna take care of you myself. Got it?"

MacCready bit back a thousand different retorts that would probably end up with him being thrown off the highway overpass. Eventually showed a little wisdom and nodded, once, reluctantly.

 _I need to get the fuck out of here_.


	2. Start of a New Beginning

"Again."

River resisted the urge to snap at poor Preston Garvey, especially because he was somewhat timid and she knew it would upset him. It wasn't his fault she was so bad at this, or that it was so fucking hot out here, or that her husband was dead and her hometown was a wasteland and it still took every last ounce of her will not to just curl up into a ball and die. Instead, she pressed the stock of the rifle back to her shoulder and lined up the shot to try again. She inhaled, held her breath, and hit it this time, the tin can flying off the cinder blocks where they'd set it up.

"Better," Preston approved, and already she regretted her brief anger at the man. He was the first living soul she'd come across besides Dogmeat and Codsworth, and she would never for the rest of her life forget the breathtaking relief of hearing another human's voice calling out to her. Thanks to him, Sanctuary was a home again. Thanks to him, she wasn't completely, utterly alone.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She'd prided herself once on her interpersonal skills - best sweet-talker at the firm, they'd called her - but now, after what she'd seen, after what she'd lost, she just didn't have it in her anymore.

"Don't mention it," he replied quickly, looking a little bashful, and if she didn't know any better, she'd say he was blushing. It was kind of cute . . . such an innocent, human reaction. Briefly, for just a moment, she almost felt like herself again - she remembered flustering her fair share of handsome men before the Big Nap. Felt pretty good, and _good_ was something she hadn't felt in a hot pink minute. "You're getting a lot better."

"That's good to hear. I think I shot a weapon all of maybe four times before the war? But. . . ."

"It's different," Preston finished for her understandingly. "You learn quick out here, or not at all. Just another hard wasteland truth."

"Seems like there's a lot of those."

"Unfortunately. That's why good people need to stick together. We already got enough workin' against us without giving each other more grief."

River studied his face, and god bless him, he really seemed to mean it somehow. Preston Garvey was gonna carry the fight for humanity all by himself if he had to, but he wouldn't give up hope. _What kind of horrors have you seen, friend? And yet still you keep on fighting._ She almost resented him for the strength she couldn't seem to find. _Time_ , she reminded herself. _Give yourself time._ And then, like always, _But how much more time does Shaun have? Maybe his time is already up. . . ._ _Ah, right. The panic spiral. This is why I can't fucking pull myself together._

"Miss River?"

She turned to see Codsworth floating down the street toward them. She'd told Nate, centuries ago, that they didn't need a robot butler. But the second she saw him outside of her broken home just like the day they'd left it, she'd never been happier to be wrong. She honestly should've been used to it by now - Nate was _always_ right. Even from the grave.

"I've prepared dinner for you, Mum."

"You're a godsend," River praised him, and he seemed to hover a little higher as she followed him back to the house that had stopped being her home the day her family was ripped apart.

* * *

_This is crazy. This is fucking crazy. I'm fucking crazy._

MacCready crept through the sleeping Gunner camp, cursing every tiny creak and rustle he made. Luckily they were a bunch of idiots who drank themselves stupid every night. Couldn't really hear shit over the sound of their collective snoring - _Seriously, I'll kill_ myself _if I ever snore like that someday._

He shifted his bag higher onto his shoulder and stepped carefully onto the narrow elevator. He pressed the button and it jerked to life - loud, way too fucking loud, and slow enough to get him killed, though he supposed running out on the Gunners probably wasn't a big enough offense for them to bother tracking him down.

All the stolen supplies that weighed heavily at the bottom of his bag . . . that might be a different story.

"Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon," he urged the elevator under his breath. He could hear voices up above, and started to panic. He peered down at the ground, trying to gauge the height through the darkness. _That's not that far of a drop, is it? No, I can totally make that -_

He leapt, had just enough time to realize how fast the ground was coming at him before he landed hard on his ankles, rolling a little too late to lessen the impact.

_OW, FUCK, OW, NO I COULDN'T!_

MacCready struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the blinding pain in his ankles. He hobbled as fast as his legs could carry him, and over his shoulder, he could hear Winlock's furious scream, "MACCREADY! You're fucking DEAD!"

But the elevator had just touched ground, and it would have to make it all the way back up before they could board it. MacCready was terrible at a lot of things, but he knew how to disappear, and by the time Winlock and his goons had made it to the ground, he was nowhere to be found.

He didn't stop moving until he'd made all the way it to Diamond City, not even to use a stimpak, and he was really going to regret it once the adrenaline faded, but for now he could enjoy the blissful freedom of being on his own again and answering to nobody.

Well, nobody except the Diamond City guard he had to bribe to let him in at such a late hour, but a few caps was a small price to pay for a safe place to sleep for the night. He probably would've done the same in that guy's shoes, anyways. Desperate, wounded wastelander with nowhere else to turn? It would've been stupid _not_ to squeeze a few caps out of him.

Once he'd settled into some shithole room in the Dugout Inn, another ten caps lighter, MacCready tended to his swollen ankles. They hurt like all hell, but there was no serious damage at least. He used a stimpak and stretched out over the bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

These times were normally the hardest - idle moments with nothing to fill his thoughts or his hands, when all the fear and grief had him cornered and couldn't wait to remind him that he was their bitch. But he was still so fucking pumped from his daring escape that he found himself laughing, wasn't even sure at what, it just felt great for something to go right for once in his damn life.

 _Damn_ , he thought with a smile, first one in months. _I shoulda killed Fat Lip while I had the chance._

* * *

River eyed the map laid out over her coffee table with what she considered to be a reasonable amount of skepticism. "You're kidding, right?"

Preston rubbed the back of his neck. "I know it's a bit of a walk. . . ."

Dogmeat woofed excitedly, licking at River's hand. She laughed and stroked his head. "Of course you're excited. Preston said the magic word, didn't he?" She sighed heavily. "Well, my partner seems up for it. I'd break his heart if I held out now."

Preston smiled sadly, like he knew her humor was a defense mechanism and it literally saddened him. Not a particularly fun experience for the ego, being at the end of that smile. "I understand if you need another week or two -"

River waved the rest of his sentence away. "No, it's been long enough already. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Then maybe I should go with you."

She blinked in surprise, another refusal freezing on her tongue. Her eyes narrowed, studying him intently. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. You've given the Minutemen a fighting chance, and I really owe you one for that."

"They probably need you, though, right?" River gestured toward the door. "I mean, this place isn't gonna rebuild itself while I'm gone."

"You're right about that, but I'm offering my help either way if you need it. You're my friend, and I'd rather see you safe, even if it puts us back."

"Hmn." River nibbled on the edge of her thumbnail, an ancient habit she'd kicked after law school resurfacing again. Preston was a damn good shot, leagues better than her, but she didn't feel right tearing him from the Minutemen when things were finally starting to come together for him. Nobody else needed to put themselves at risk to find her son. She felt bad enough putting Dogmeat in danger, but at least if things got out of control, she could send him away - and he would go, even if it broke his poor, sweet doggy heart. "I'll think about it," she finally said, her hand on Dogmeat's neck, and she could tell from the look on Preston's face that he already knew her answer.

"I'm here if you need me," he promised with a shrug. "Carla's still in town. You should stock up on what supplies you can." He pulled a pouch from his pocket and held it out toward her with a smile. "A little going-away present."

The bag landed in her palm with the unmistakable rattle of bottle caps. A lot of them. "Preston, I can't take this," she protested.

"It's from all of us. You're gonna need it to get you to Diamond City." When she didn't move, he sighed. "Please. I won't rest easy unless you take it."

"All right," she finally acquiesced, pocketing the pouch. She smiled, slowly, testing out how it felt on her face again. "For what it's worth . . . I'm glad we're friends. I don't have too many of those left anymore."

Preston simply nodded. "You can count on me."

Before River left for Diamond City the next day, Mama Murphy stopped her at the edge of town. She looked stressed and worried, more wound up than River had ever seen her.

"Mama Murphy. What's wrong?"

"I had to tell you before you left," Mama replied in her slow drawl. "I saw something last night - in a dream. Haven't had the Sight in my dreams since I was a little girl, so I knew it had to be important."

"Well, I always have time for you," River assured her, slinging her rifle back over her shoulder. "What's up?"

Mama Murphy put a hand on River's arm, seeming to draw the words from somewhere deep inside of herself. By the time she started speaking, she was out of breath. "You'll find help, but . . . not where you expect to. The music will lead you to hard lines and a broken heart, just like yours. Look deep into the mirror and take what's being offered. The price'll be steep, but he's a good man. He'll let you talk him down." Then she shuddered, leaning heavily on River. "I-I wish you luck, kid. You're gonna need it out there."

"Thanks, Mama," River murmured, supporting her weight as she helped her back to her house. "I'll be careful. And I'll find my boy."

"I know you will, kid." She smiled. "I've seen it."

* * *

"Run, Dogmeat, go, go, go!"

Bullets whizzed past her and sank into the dirt perilously close to her feet. The danger was so sudden and so incomprehensibly fucking real - one wrong turn and suddenly she'd been face-to-face with a machine gun turret, aimed right at her and whirring to life, alerting every single raider in the camp to her presence with its loud beeping. She felt like she could hardly breathe past her heart in her throat, and only the sight of Dogmeat two paces ahead of her was keeping her on her feet. She ducked down a side alley and Dogmeat led her to an open window, waiting for her to climb through before he slipped in behind her.

She scanned the room and made for a set of decrepit stairs, climbing them as noiselessly as she could. The second floor consisted of a long hallway lined with offices. River pointed Dogmeat to the far one and he was already trotting his way there. She waited, crouched, in the stairway, straining to listen past her hammering pulse. It didn't take long before the sound of footsteps drew nearer; it sounded like three sets, but she couldn't be sure. She pulled two mines from her bag and set one up halfway up the stairs, then another partway down the hallway. Then she joined Dogmeat, sitting attentively behind a desk in the far hallway. She pulled her rifle from over her shoulder and rested it on top of the desk.

Then they waited.

But River's mind didn't like to wait when it was frightened, so it did that annoying chatter it liked to do at dangerous, inopportune moments.

_Nice office . . . good view, spacious, cushy chair. I would've killed for an office like this back before the war. Now I probably just could. I could just take this office. You know what, it's my office now._

Voices drifted up from the first floor, gravelly and masculine.

"Only a coward hides!" one of them taunted her.

"Shut up and find that little bitch. Check upstairs."

River took deep, slow breaths, pressing her eye to the scope of her rifle. Her heart was still racing at what was most likely a really unhealthy rate, but she tried to ignore it. Dogmeat crouched down low on his haunches, waiting.

She heard the first few heavy footfalls on the stairs - one, two, three, four - and then the explosion, and from the agonized screaming, River would guess he was dead if not mortally wounded. Might've even injured the second guy, too, but he was pissed and stupid enough to keep charging up the stairs. When he reached the top of the stairs, she could see him holding one of his eyes, the other wrapped around a pistol. She ducked under the edge of the desk, heard him coming toward her and covered her ears just before the second mine went off. Dogmeat whined beside her, whether out of irritation from the noise or impatient bloodlust, River could never be sure. She apologized to him under her breath either way and chanced a peek over the desk.

The second raider hadn't gotten up and didn't seem to be breathing, but there was still one left. She could hear him carefully climbing the stairs, checking for mines now before every step.

"Gonna make you pay for that, girly."

River lowered her eye to the scope again, suppressing the urge to laugh at his bad-guy villain chatter. Then trying to ignore the brief existential crisis that followed - _is that a good thing, laughing after I just killed two guys, because I'm getting used to all of this? Or a bad thing because I just killed two guys and I want to laugh? Bad, right? I'll ask Preston._

The top of a gas mask poked up over the edge of the stairs, followed quickly by gargantuan, bare shoulders - _weird to spring for the mask, but not a shirt_ \- and the rest of the raider's oafish body. He took one step down the hallway and River hissed, "Go."

River fired a shot off at the raider to distract him while Dogmeat came careening down the hallway. He had the raider's calf locked between his teeth before he could even lift his gun. The dog snarled threateningly, teeth digging into muscle and flesh, keeping the raider nice and steady so River could land the headshot that finally ended his life.

"Phew," she sighed, the same sound she used to always make after a long day working cases, and then she actually did laugh. She laughed so hard tears rolled down her face and she couldn't get up from the floor. Dogmeat came padding over to sniff her in concern.

"I'm f-fine," she managed between giggles, hugging the dog affectionately. "You and me, buddy, we might just make it through this."

Dogmeat woofed proudly and licked her face, chin to hairline.

"G'boy. Now go make sure those other two idiots are dead, too."

With a cheerful bark, he was off.

* * *

Once darkness fell, River found she could move quietly and quickly enough to be past any potential threats before they'd even realized she was there. Her mother had been the put-the-child-in-an-activity-so-I-don't-have-to-see-her type, so she'd been forced into everything from gymnastics to volleyball to horseback riding to ballet. She spent just enough time to barely understand each of them, not quite enough to ever develop any skill, but had maintained a decent level of athleticism in the process.

 _Yeah, maybe a couple of centuries ago_ , she thought wistfully as her legs burned in protest with each step. At the first sign for Diamond City, she nearly burst into tears. She jumped and yelped when there was a man standing on the other side of the gate, dressed head-to-toe in umpire gear with the clever little baseball diamond insignia of Diamond City painted on the chest piece. "I'm sorry!" she apologized quickly, throwing her hands up in surrender when he cursed and reached for his rifle. "You startled me! I'm really new at this!"

"New at what? Talkin' to people?!" he demanded gruffly, and despite the all-too-familiar Boston rudeness, it was almost comforting to hear the accent again. Really felt like home.

 _Real smooth, River. How much did you pay for all that law school again?_ "I'm sorry," she said again, easing her hands down from the air. "I got chased by a couple raiders on the way over. My dog and I barely made it through." She almost sounded convincing, like she'd been saying stuff like that her entire life, instead of barely a month and a half.

The guard didn't even seem upset anymore. He was staring at her hair with unabashed curiosity, like most people did, trying to figure out if she was just a really young looking old lady or if her hair was somehow naturally white as snow. "I moisturize really well," she told him matter-of-factly. "I'm actually seventy-eight. Diamond City?"

He scowled, looking like he wanted to tell her off for being mouthy, but he hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "That way," he grumbled.

"Thanks. Let's go, Dogmeat."

Her dog glared the guard down as they passed, making her laugh, and she realized abruptly that she _loved_ the little guy, really loved him, from the bottom of her heart. It was something she hadn't thought her heart capable of again.

"I love you, boy," she told him proudly.

He nosed the palm of her hand, licking her fingers gratefully. They rounded the wide circumference of what River realized was Fenway Park - through the grime and rust, she could almost recognize the outer wall outside the stands - and came eventually to the main gate, where a woman in a red leather coat was shouting at the intercom.

"What do you mean you can't open the gate? Stop playing around, Danny! I'm standin' out in the open here, for crying out loud!"

"I got orders not to let you in, Miss Piper," a man's hesitant voice came filtering back out. "I'm sorry. I'm just doin' my job."

"Ooh, just 'doing your job!' Protecting Diamond City means keeping me out, is that it? 'Oh, look, it's the scary reporter!'" she wailed derisively, before finishing with a loud, "Boo!"

River almost laughed. She was laying it on a little thick, but she had to give her points for style.

"I'm sorry, but Mayor McDonough's really steamed, Piper. Sayin' that article you wrote was all lies. The whole city's in a tizzy."

River felt a little embarrassed for the guy on the other end, he sounded so sheepish. No wonder he was the guy behind the gate, and not the one hanging out outside the wall with all the raiders and mutants.

Finally Piper roared in frustration. "You open this gate, Danny Sullivan! I live here! You can't just lock me out!" She threw her hands up and turned away in frustration, noticing River watching in interest for the first time. She dropped her voice and leaned closer. "You. You want into Diamond City, right? Don't care, just play along. What was that?" she asked, louder. "You're a trader up from Quincy? You have enough supplies to keep the general store stocked for a whole month? Huh. You hear that, Danny? You gonna open the gate and let us in? Or are you going to be the one talking to crazy Myrna about losing out on all this supply?"

"Geez, all right. No need to make it personal, Piper," he grumped sullenly. "Give me a minute."

"Better head inside quick," Piper advised River as the metal door jerked to life with a loud squeal. "Before ol' Danny catches on to our bluff."

"After you."

Piper smiled. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

_Nick Valentine_ , Mayor McDonough had said rather reluctantly, after River gave him _the smile_ \- the smile that got her free drinks all night at any bar back in college - _a . . . detective of sorts, who specializes in tracking people down._

After she'd promised Piper she'd stop by later for an interview - something that sounded so normal and average compared to all the shooting and killing and running for her life - she stumbled into the marketplace.

Again, she experienced that faded, lifting feeling, not quite hope but something like it. Walking around from vendor to vendor, peering curiously at what they were offering . . . it felt almost normal. Almost right. Not quite the life she used to live, but close enough. _I might be able to pull this off._

"Excuse me," she asked of a nearby guard. "Can you direct me to Nick Valentine's agency?"

He looked her up and down with no attempt at subtlety, something that was getting old pretty quickly. "Don't tell me. Missing person?"

"Pizza delivery."

"Hngh. Alley behind the market."

_At least fucking with people is still fun. Things might not be so bad after all._

The pink neon sign was easy enough to spot in the dark alleyway. She steeled herself with a deep breath and knocked at the door. A long moment of silence followed, before a dark-haired young woman pulled it open a crack. When she spotted River, she opened it a bit further. "Afraid you're too late," the woman sighed, "Office is closed."

"Please," River insisted, allowing a little of the panic that constantly lurked just beneath the surface to creep into her voice. "I know you must be busy, but I won't take much of your time. It's important."

The girl's eyes softened, and the ghost of something sad passed over her face. "You're right. I'm sorry," she apologized, pulling the door all the way open. "I'm Ellie, Nick's assistant. I didn't mean to be rude, but it's just . . . the detective. He's gone missing."

 _No._ River tried to fight back the oncoming wave of dread. Besides Mama Murphy's cryptic prediction, this was her only lead; if this didn't pan out, it was back to square one. "Do you have any idea how I could find him?"

"He disappeared working a case. Skinny Malone's gang had kidnapped a young woman, and he tracked them down to their hideout in Park Street Station. There's an old Vault down there they use as a base. I _told_ Nick he was walking into a trap . . . but he just smiled and walked out the door like he always does."

River rubbed her hands over her face, as if she could make the whole situation disappear by hiding from it. Like that had ever worked for her before. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but . . . Skinny Malone?"

"I don't know much about him, but he's from Goodneighbor, and that means he's in the well-pressed suits and machine guns school of thuggery."

If River learned anything from law school, it was how - and more importantly when - to get away with being nosy. Ellie seemed so desperate for help, she probably could've grilled her for another hour about the Commonwealth. _Might be good to get a perspective outside of Preston Garvey_. "You said he's from Goodneighbor?"

"It's a tough neighborhood, northeast a ways. People with power there care about two things: style and body count."

"Tough as in still friendly to outsiders? Or tough as in, don't even bother?"

Ellie smiled for the first time. "Could be either. Some call it dangerous, some call it fun. I grew up there, back before a rather recent change in management made it a lot safer to call home. But I'd watch your back all the same if you plan on heading that way." She eyed the Pip-Boy around River's wrist. "You got a map on that thing? I can show you where it is, if you'd like. Park Street Station, too."

"Thank you, Ellie. Really. Detective Valentine is really my last . . . my only hope."

"I recognize that look," Ellie murmured knowingly. "I'm sorry. Whoever you're missing must be very important to you. You help me get my boss back, and I promise you, we'll do whatever we can to help."

"I'll find him."

She hesitated, wringing her slender hands. "Look, you seem nice, and you're obviously new around here." Her eyes flickered, for the shortest moment, up to River's white hair, then darted away. "If you need a place to stay, there's an extra bed here. It's Nick's, but he never uses it." The end of her lips quirked up, like there was some joke River was missing out on.

"I really appreciate it, but . . . he wouldn't mind?"

Ellie lifted her chin defiantly. "Well, he should've thought about that before he went and got himself in hot water."

River couldn't help but smile. Damn if she didn't still love trouble in a woman. "I didn't think you could rely on the kindness of strangers anymore."

"I wouldn't get used to it around these parts, but . . . I can't refuse a pretty face. Just don't murder me or anything and we'll be fine."

River watched her grab some documents and head for the door, wondering if she'd actually just made another friend. Dogmeat stared expectantly up at her, as if to say he liked Ellie, too.

 _Not alone anymore_ , his eyes seemed to promise, and for the first time since she'd buried her husband, she was starting to really feel like it.


	3. Story of the Century

MacCready shouldered his rifle when the pink neon lighting of Goodneighbor's sign came into view, readying the pistol at his side instead. There were no mutants or raiders or feral ghouls within the city's walls, but that didn't mean there wasn't any danger - it was usually just plain old selfish people stirring up trouble. Not that he didn't count himself among them, but he'd lost too much not to be selfish; he was selfish to survive.

 _Sounds like a bullshit excuse_ , Leah had told him when he used that line on her. He'd been fourteen years old, following her around like she hung the stars in the sky (for all he fucking knew, she really had). She'd just caught him stealing something, he couldn't even remember what, just the stifling heat of shame that had washed over him, then the defensive tirade he launched into reflexively. _You don't know what it's like to grow up out here, mungo!_ He remembered Leah's derisive laughter, cutting like knives into his heart. _Neither do you, you little shit. And if I catch you stealing again, I'm gonna let Charon deal with you._

She always was such a poor sport, for a hero. But Charon spoiled her, always had, always would, until the day his lungs stopped breathing, and the unfaltering truth of that fact sat heavy in his heart. How was it possible to admire and idolize something, let it shape your dreams, your heart and all the fucked-up feelings inside, and resent it all at the same time?

_I'm pretty sure that means you're a shit human being. I guess I always sorta knew that one, though. . . . Jesus, he's a million times better off in their hands._

It was the only thought that made it bearable to be away for so long.

MacCready stood outside of the old state house, hesitating on the doorstep. He absolutely _hated_ asking for help - coming to someone with his hat in his hands, because he fucked up again - it was getting old real fast. But until he got what he needed, he didn't have much a choice. He'd swallow every last, stubborn ounce of his pride if it meant he could somehow save his son.

One of the neighborhood watch guards recognized him and nodded upstairs. "The mayor is in office," he growled, the formal declaration strange in his stony voice.

MacCready tried not to laugh, and almost managed to succeed. He had to hide a snicker into his collar as he climbed up the spiral staircase - he'd seen people die in Goodneighbor for lesser offenses. The double doors were open and he found Hancock lounging on the tattered red couch, jet inhaler in hand and an expectant grin on his face.

"MacCready! Just when I was thinkin' Goodneighbor could use a little more trouble."

He clapped hands with the ghoul before flopping down next to him. "Good to see you, man."

"Been a few months. You done playin' soldier yet?"

MacCready shrugged noncommittally, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. "Caps were good, but. . . ." _The things I saw. The things I did. . ._ "There's gotta be another way."

"I told ya joinin' up with those idiots was a bad idea."

"Yeah, well . . . you know me." He smiled weakly around his cigarette.

Hancock thought for a long moment, taking another slow hit of jet. "Why don't you settle down in town? Set up in the Third Rail, keep an eye out for any scared lookin' folks - god knows there are never any shortage of those 'round here."

MacCready eyed him intently, waiting for the other foot to fall. "You really mean it?"

"Absolutely. Throw me maybe . . . five percent of your profits, just to keep Fahrenheit off my back."

"I appreciate this. Really."

Hancock waved his next words away. "You're a good kid, MacCready, even if you're stubborn as fuck. Plus, I like havin' ya around. You make me laugh, and Charlie's got it too easy runnin' that bar. He deserves a little lip." He smiled when MacCready laughed, then his face grew somber. "You ever gonna tell me why you need money so damn bad?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. "It's not a happy story," he said finally.

"It usually ain't. But I want to help you, if I can."

MacCready sighed, expelling a swell of smoke. "All right." He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette. "You asked for it."

* * *

River sat on the couch in Piper's office, staring down at her outstretched hands. Her slender fingers were dirt-marked and callused now, swollen in places where she'd jammed or otherwise injured them. The dark purple lacquer still held true on most of her fingernails - _damn well better, stuff cost a small fortune_ \- but they were growing out quickly and chipping at the tips. She didn't even want to think of whatever blood and grime might be caught under their edges and thought longingly, to her great shame not for the first time, of her at-home manicure kit. _I might've been able to save these poor babies. But what's the point? Who's even around to appreciate them anymore? So many pieces of me feel . . . useless now._

She realized too late that Piper was watching her with interest, feeling her cheeks burn. "I'm sorry for spacing out, it's been a long day." The old platitude slipped thoughtlessly from her tongue, followed by a dry chuckle. "You know, I used to think I knew what that meant once."

Piper pulled two bottles of Nuka Cola from a cooler on the coffee table and passed one over to her. "I'm all ears, Blue," she hinted, clicking the pen in her hands eagerly, a pad of paper in her lap.

"Blue?" River twisted open her bottle and almost laughed when the familiar sugary taste hit her tongue. _Not bad for two centuries past the expiration date._

"I know you're not wearing the blue jumpsuit right now, but the Pip-Boy and that fish-out-of-water look? Dead giveaways." She smiled wistfully. "So here's the deal. I want an interview. Your life story in print. I think it's time Diamond City had a little outside perspective on the Commonwealth again."

River nibbled on her bottom lip, feeling a twinge of unease settle like lead in her stomach. She still knew so little about this world, and the many mysterious forces that seemed to make it somehow work. How much was she willing to share with this woman and the rest of Diamond City? "I'm a pretty private person," she explained her hesitance. "What kind of interview is this going to be?"

"I ask who you are, get your opinion on life out there, and maybe load up a few tough questions and keep it interesting."

 _That's what I'm afraid of._ "All right," she agreed finally, with a note of reluctance so that Piper understood this interview could be over at any moment, if the subject matter strayed into dangerous territory.

"Good. Let's get down to business." She straightened the pad of paper on her leg and readied her pen. "So, I know you're from a Vault. How would you describe your time on the inside?"

"Why's that important? I'm here now, aren't I?"

Piper's eyes narrowed, seeing right through her stalling; to be fair, she was a little rusty. "I told you, this is a perspective piece. People in Diamond City need to know you're from a different world from them."

"Sounds like a quick way to become an easy target."

The reporter pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You're a fast learner, I'll give you that. Look, I can't promise people won't use the information in this article against you. But the real danger out there - the Institute - if they want to know something about you, they knew it already yesterday. I'm wasteland born and raised, so I understand your caution. I'm just asking for a little trust."

"Okay," River said, licking the taste of Nuka Cola from her lips. "Okay, how 'bout this? I'll answer your questions as honestly as I can, if you agree to answer a few of mine after."

"Deal." Piper grinned pointedly. "Life in the vault?"

River almost laughed. "You're not gonna believe this, but . . . I wasn't awake for most of my time in the vault. We were sealed up tight in cryo-chambers and frozen."

"W-wait. They boxed you up in a fridge? The whole time? Are you saying you were alive before the war?" Piper's voice inched lower with each word, like they were growing heavier with incredulity.

She smiled appreciatively. "Not bad for over two hundred, right?" she teased, holding her arms out.

"Not bad at all," Piper agreed, eyes alight with excitement. "Oh, my god. 'The Woman Out of Time.'" She said it almost reverently, allowing a moment for dramatic effect before pushing on. "So, you've seen the Commonwealth. Diamond City. How does it compare to your old life?"

"I . . . I don't really know yet," River admitted apologetically. "I've been so busy running for my life, scared out of my mind, I guess I haven't been able to give anything any real objective thought."

"How long ago exactly did you thaw out?"

She tried to measure the time in her mind. "About two months ago."

"Oh, my god," Piper said again.

"But I guess, if I had to make a comparison. . . . I felt something like hope when I saw the market outside. It reminded me of home, in a little way. Even though so much has gone wrong - and Jesus, I mean, _really_ gone wrong - there's still a little hope left."

"That's . . . surprisingly inspired, Blue. We're definitely quoting that. Now . . . the big question. You came all this way looking for someone, right?"

River nodded, struggling to speak past the sudden lump in her throat. "My baby, Shaun was kidnapped. He's . . . he's not even a year old."

Piper's face softened, so much pity in her gaze River had to look away. "The parent after the missing child." She sighed. "As heartbreaking today as it ever was. Tell me, do you suspect the Institute's involved?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I don't have a single clue." She fought to keep the terror out of her voice.

"I'm sorry. I know this must be difficult to talk about." Piper cleared her throat, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts. "For the last part of our interview, I'd like to do something different. I want you to make a statement to Diamond City directly. The threat of kidnapping is all but ignored in the Commonwealth. Everyone wants to pretend it doesn't happen. What would you say to someone out there who's lost a loved one, but might be too scared, or too numb to the world to look for them?"

"People just ignore kidnappings out here?" She couldn't imagine. The all-consuming need to have Shaun back and safe in her arms ate at the deepest parts of her broken heart every second of every day.

"Yeah, Blue. You grow up in the Commonwealth, and eventually someone is going to get taken. Maybe not someone you know, but someone. And people just say, 'Well, it could've been worse. Could've been killed by raider attacks or super mutants or feral ghouls.' They just give up."

The thought burned like coals in River's throat.

"So I want my readers to hear what keeps you _going_. Maybe they'll find a little inspiration."

"A piece of me is missing," she said before she could stop herself, a thought that had been gnawing at the edges of her consciousness since she stepped out of the cryopod and into this nightmare. "There's a part of me I'll never get back. But my son . . . there's still a chance for him. And if you know there's still a chance, how can you ever stop fighting? If I can still save him somehow, or . . . or at least know the truth. Maybe it's hope, maybe it's fear. But I won't be able to rest until I know he's safe again. If you've lost someone, too, you'll understand what I'm talking about. And that you absolutely can't give up hope. Otherwise they're gone for good."

"A strong note to end on, Blue." Piper smiled gratefully. "Thanks. That's everything. It's gonna take some time to put this all together, but I think your story is going to give Diamond City plenty to talk about. Anyway, I agreed to let you ask a few questions, too, didn't I? Oh, wow," she added when River pulled a notebook and pen from her bag.

"Once upon a time, I was a lawyer," she told her with a wry smile. "And a pretty good one, too." She flipped the notebook open to the page of topics she'd scrawled out on the way over from Nick Valentine's office. "So, tell me what you know about Skinny Malone. . . ."

* * *

When night finally fell over Diamond City, River retreated through the blessedly silent marketplace back to Valentine's office. The noodles she'd bought from the robot earlier had taken the edge off the hunger, but she was still having trouble eating. She wasn't sure if it was some residual metabolism issues from being frozen or possibly just the stress of everything she'd gone through. Probably weren't too many doctors around who specialized in side-effects from being cryogenically frozen for two centuries, anyways.

The office was empty when she got there. Maybe Ellie lived somewhere else. Maybe she'd felt so bad for her, she'd left her the place to herself. She appreciated the isolation all the same. Sanctuary was too familiar, and yet also too different at the same time - a physical representation of the two lives she couldn't seem to force together in her mind. Her old home wasn't comforting; it _haunted_ her, just another ghost reminding her of what she'd lost. It was hard to get a good sleep there.

But the second her body hit the worn mattress in the back of Nick Valentine's agency, her muscles seemed to shut down. The worries at the back of her mind crumbled into ashes and dust. She'd have to think about how fucked she was in the morning, Piper's warnings about Skinny Malone and Vault 114 fading away quietly as she drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

Three days later, River was back in Sanctuary with a better gun and a few fresh scars from the journey. Dogmeat was ecstatic to see Preston again, who tried, to his immense credit, to keep the relief and surprise from his expression.

"Good to see you in one piece," he said by way of greeting. "How did things go in Diamond City?"

"Not so great. The only person who might be able to help me has been kidnapped himself, by a gang of old-timey thugs." She laughed. "I shouldn't laugh, because I'm terrified, but it's still kind of funny somehow."

"Well, you know I'm here to help if you need it," he promised solemnly.

"I feel like I'll need a whole damn army." She sighed. "I don't know. I need time to think. And if I'm gonna somehow pull this off . . . some training." Her lips twisted downward, almost comically opposite to his eager smile.

"Are you pouting?" Preston laughed, a loud, booming sound that River was big enough to find endearing, even as he irritated her. Her scowl shut it down real quick, though. "We'll start tomorrow morning, then?"

"Fine," River groaned, dragging her feet as she headed for home. Dogmeat followed her dutifully the whole way. He curled up around her feet at the dining table as Codsworth served her some old Cram and pasta he'd scrounged somewhere, and she snuck him pieces of meat whenever the robot wasn't looking.

She didn't mind training. She knew it would be necessary, that there might be lots of bloodshed in her immediate future, and if she didn't get her shit together, it was going to be hers. And she was definitely improving, but that was the worst part - it wasn't enough. She was painfully aware of every time she missed, how clumsy her fingers felt when she reloaded, the heavy, unfamiliar weight of the rifle in her hands. How was she supposed to rescue Nick Valentine when she could hardly keep herself alive?

Things seemed to always get worse right when they were getting better.

* * *

MacCready was halfway through an issue of _Grognak the Barbarian,_ Hancock typing away at his terminal across the room, when Fahrenheit strode in through the double doors.

"Got something for you, boss. Though why you insist on reading this trash, I'll never know."

"You wouldn't know good literature if it hit you in the nose," Hancock scolded her playfully, taking the newspaper from her outstretched hand.

"The hell is that?" MacCready asked, sitting up with curiosity.

" _Publick Occurrences_ , Diamond City newspaper."

"People still read those?"

Hancock rolled his eyes. "Says the kid with _Grognak the Simpleton_ clutched in his greasy fingers." He spread the paper out and hummed under his breath as he perused it. "Huh, no shit," he remarked with amusement. "Listen to this: 'The Woman out of Time didn't have much to say about her life in the vault at all, because she spent the whole time staring at a piece of frozen glass, every day for over two centuries. She isn't just a vault dweller, she's an _original_ vault dweller.' How fuckin' crazy is _that_?" He fell silent as he continued reading. Then he grumbled something under his breath.

"Am I gonna have to come over there and take that away from you?" MacCready complained, flipping back to the page he'd left off at.

"You should read this one," Hancock said, and the strange tone in his voice made MacCready look up just as the ghoul was dropping the paper into his lap. "You might have more in common with this pre-war dame than ya think. I'm headed down to the Rail for some booze. Need anything?"

"No, I'm good." MacCready rifled through the papers, picking up the one Hancock had read last.

**I asked River to make a statement to Diamond City. To give us an outsider's perspective on what it means to lose a loved one, and how she feels. Maybe, in some way, it's how we all should feel. Maybe we've forgotten what the right, human response to these tragedies are.**

**"A piece of me is missing," she told me. "There's a part of me I'll never get back. But my son - there's still a chance for him. And if you know there's still a chance, how can you ever stop fighting? If I can still save him somehow, or at least know the truth. Maybe it's hope, maybe it's fear. But I won't be able to rest until I know he's safe again. If you've lost someone, too, you'll understand what I'm talking about. And that you absolutely can't give up hope. Otherwise they're gone for good."**

"Hmph." MacCready reached for another cigarette, trying to chase away the bitter taste at the back of his throat.

_Welcome to the wasteland, lady._


	4. Good, Good Neighbor

River crept deeper into the basement of the old storage facility. Somewhere in the heart of this place, there was a raider named Red Tourette, and soon she was going to join the rest of her goons, lying dead in River's silent, vengeful wake.

She'd brought Preston along this time. He kept pestering her about all these problems popping up now that the Minutemen were back on the map, so she figured he could come along and do some of the legwork. As much as she missed Dogmeat, it was nice to have an actual gun at her side, and Preston was an impressive shot. She supposed someone who could talk back wasn't so bad either, even if that word he called her still stung between her teeth like a cavity.

She reloaded her pistol with steady fingers, ejecting empty fusion cells. She could feel sweat beading at the back of her neck, horribly uncomfortable between her skin and the leather of her armor. She tried to ignore it, like all of the other annoying little wasteland discomforts. Never seemed to make it any easier, though.

"You okay?" he asked when she started squirming to try to cool her shoulders off.

"I _hate armor_ ," she hissed under her breath. "Let's kill these fuckers and get out of here." She palmed her pistol and snuck down the rest of the dirt path toward the little hideout Red Tourette and her raiders had carved for themselves like little molerats. When they neared the end of the tunnel, River stopped. She could hear voices around the corner, not very far. Probably not a big room. She started pulling mines from her bag.

"Those things again?"

"I don't feel so bad when they die this way," she confessed with a shrug as she lined them down the tunnel. "Besides, they can't _always_ fall for it. It's really their fault, if you think about it. Stop judging me and go back where it's safe."

Preston scowled, but he did as he was told. _He's taking this General thing pretty seriously._ Even thinking the word sent a wave of dread through her. _Stress about that later._ Once she was satisfied with her handiwork, River pulled a frag grenade from her pocket. She crept silently to the edge of the tunnel, pulled the pin and lobbed it around the corner into the adjacent room. Then she ran like hell back to where Preston was waiting behind a desk in the previous room, her heart beating in her throat.

He never would've voiced it, but she could read the _You're fucking crazy_ in his eyes loud and clear. Wasn't the first time a man had looked at her like that, and it was kind of sad, the things that made her feel like herself again. She didn't have much time to linger on the thought once the grenade went off. Footsteps came rushing from the far end of the tunnel, and then the fireworks began. It was hard to tell where one mine's explosion ended and another's began; there was just one long sequence of clustered _boom_ s, interrupted by shrieks and panicked gunfire. River clutched at the desk with white fingers, forcing herself to listen to the sounds, trying to make herself be all right with the suffering she'd caused. _Me or them. Me or them. Me or them._ She thought of the settler they'd rescued on the way down, her thin, malnourished figure, one of her eyes black and blue and so damn swollen she couldn't see out of it anymore. _Them. Absolutely fucking them._

Ears ringing, River rolled up onto her knees and waited, pistol aimed at the doorway. Red Tourette herself came limping out from the tunnel, a double-barrel in her hands. River fired off a shot and whiffed it, but followed it with another that hit true, searing Red Tourette just below the sternum. She fell back against the wall behind her, shock and fury crossing her face before Preston's laser musket burned a hole clear through her throat and neck. Her body collapsed with the wet sound of flesh on concrete, her neck splitting open and exposing the bone and flesh within.

"Oh, wow," River groaned, closing her eyes to blot out the image, but it was already singed into her brain.

"Er. Sorry, General."

"No, it's good, it's fine," she babbled. "I'm gonna have to get used to that eventually, as horrible as it is." She stepped carefully over what remained of Red Tourette and the puddle of blood developing quickly around her. She reached gingerly into her coat pockets and found stimpaks, ammo and caps - the wasteland holy trifecta - trying to ignore the fact that most of them were soaked in blood even as her stomach gave a sickening lurch. They proceeded down the tunnel, now littered with body parts and scorch marks. She didn't even bother sifting through the carnage there - just seeing it was traumatic enough. One of the raiders in the adjacent room was still alive, if only just. His legs were a bloody, useless mess, most likely from her grenade earlier. She lifted her pistol and shot him in the head before she even had a chance to think twice about it.

Preston nodded in wordless approval, and she felt a wave of gratitude for his presence. With his help, she was slowly shifting the boundaries of her moral compass to accommodate survival in this new world. She felt like she was just bluffing half the time, acting on half-instincts and adrenaline, but she was still alive, so she must've been doing something right - if anything could be right anymore these days.

Hands shaking, River pulled a pack of gum from her front pocket and popped one of the chalky strips into her mouth. She sank her teeth into the familiar rubbery texture with relief. Piper had gifted her the pack on her way out after their interview, unintentionally reawakening an old oral fixation her mother had beaten out of her when she was still little enough to be beaten. She moved through Red Tourette's hideout, chewing numbly, kicking tables and chairs over with her boots to check underneath them. From the notes spread out over the coffee table, she gathered Red's sister had been kidnapped by a neighboring raider gang, and they were using her to leverage Red for supplies. River dropped the note in her hand like it had burned her - she didn't want to feel sorry for the woman they'd just murdered. It was too late now for pity. Especially now that it seemed there was yet another raider gang that needed eradication.

_A woman's work is never done._

For once, the memory of her mother's words, spoken on the falling end of a heavy, martyr's sigh, made her laugh. _I'll give you that one, Mama, even if you don't deserve it. 'Cause you definitely weren't thinking about any of this shit when you said it._ She scraped the sole of her boot off on the edge of the coffee table and grimaced at the blood and dirt that came loose.

"Take anything worth selling," she told Preston. "Then let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

River climbed the hill over Sanctuary, her hair still heavy and wet from a freezing dip in the river on the edge of town. The waters were cold enough to sting her skin, but it was always worth it to scrub away the blood and gore. She found it was easier to convince herself she wasn't a monster if she didn't actively look like one.

She stopped at the last patch of grass before the dark dirt that marked Nate's resting place. There had been a spell of rain recently, and grass was beginning to grow in around the edges of the grave. She wasn't sure she'd ever live to see the day.

"Sorry it's been so long since I've come to see you." River cast her eyes out over the growing sprawl of Sanctuary Hills beneath them. "I put you up here so you could watch me run around down there, trying to keep things together. Probably not how dead people or the afterlife work, but it's helped me get through a few shitty days." She set her pistol aside and stretched out in the grass next to Nate's grave, staring up at the sky. "Preston and I saved a settler that was kidnapped today. He's still going on about this whole general thing. I'm still not convinced, but . . . I promised him I'd try. It's what you would've done, I think. You'd certainly be a lot better at it."

Telling Nate about her day was one of the things she missed the most about their married life, that liberating moment when she could unload all of her angers and fears. He was always so good at talking the steam out of her, no matter how furious she was. And if she was still angry after, he'd fuck her, and the first time gentle, patient Nate had shoved her up against the bookshelf and pushed inside of her, she came so hard she saw stars. The memory was still so vivid, it sent a twinge of warmth down the curve of her spine.

"Fuck, I miss you," she groaned. She was hoping that particular part of her would never thaw back out: that searing need that Nate had recognized and tempered in her like unbreakable steel.

 _You're insatiable_. She remembered the laughter in his voice as she nipped her way down his ribs. _You can't want it again._

 _I want you every moment of every day._ She'd meant it, too, with every fiber of her being.

_You're gonna be late to work._

She'd ended up calling in that day.

Nate had been that spectacular kind of beautiful, golden hair, green-blue eyes - everything about the man from his smile to his sense of humor had so much color to it. She could've listened to him speak for the rest of their lives, just to hear the way his voice bent around all the different phonemes. She remembered the heavy line of his brow, his eyes that had always seemed a little darker after his first time at war. She wondered if the things she'd seen had warped her features, too.

_Would you be proud of me? Would you even recognize me?_

River just listened for a long moment to the peaceful sounds of Sanctuary down below: someone was banging on something with a hammer somewhere, and past that she could just hear the sound of water rushing in the river. Someone sang along, badly, to a song on the radio.

"I'm heading for Goodneighbor in a few days. It's where Skinny Malone is from. You know me, I always have to do my research. We couldn't even eat at a restaurant until I'd asked at least five different people about the food, so if I'm gonna take on a whole gang of mobsters, I'm gonna do a little nosing around first. I've been helping Preston and the Minutemen for a couple months, and I think I'm ready. Wish me luck, though, yeah?" She got to her feet, neck and arms itching from lying in the grass. Sliding her pistol back into the holster at her hip, she blew a kiss at the dirt below. "You always were such a good listener. I'll seeya soon, honey. Rest easy."

This time, River stopped by Mama Murphy's before she left town. The old woman was lounging in the chair she'd built for her with her bare hands (and maybe a little advice from Sturges). It was evident from its appearance that she was no carpenter or upholsterer, but it was sturdy and comfortable and Mama loved the damn thing nonetheless.

"When you meet the fat man and the angry woman, tell them to remember the Quarry and Lilly June on the rocks, and they'll let you and your friends pass." Mama smiled, that distant, faraway look in her eyes. "Be safe, little lamb."

River felt her heart give a painful squeeze. "Little . . . where did you hear that, Mama Murphy?"

"The Sight shows me everything, remember? Bit of what was, bit of what'll be. But I don't need the Sight to see how much he loved ya. I can hear it in the way he said it."

"Thank you." She wiped at the tears forming at the edges of her eyes; she hadn't cried over her father in a very long time. "That's . . . that was nice to hear. I'll see you when I get back, all right?"

River stepped out into the crisp morning air, Dogmeat trotting faithfully at her heels. Her rifle felt lighter and more effective in her hands, like an actual weapon now that she actually knew how to use it. She was even deadlier with the pistol at her hip, but she had to learn to keep things at a distance as long as she could, especially without Preston's sharp aim at her back.

It almost felt good to be on the road again. Now that she was finally shaking off some of the terror, part of her recognized how liberating it felt. She should've been dead by now. Every step she took was another _fuck you_ to the man who had killed her husband and taken away their son. And one day she hoped to say that _fuck you_ straight to his face, right before she shot him dead.

* * *

River never thought she'd be so happy to see pink neon lights, but the bright Goodneighbor sign filled her with a wave of relief. The last stretch of downtown Boston had been an absolute hive of mutant activity. One of their bullets had grazed the tender flesh of her arm, and even after a stimpak and a dose of med-x, the wound still throbbed something painful. She tried to calm the shaking of her hands around her rifle as she stepped through the battered door into Goodneighbor.

She leaned back against the door once Dogmeat was clear with a heavy sigh. She recognized the old state house to her left, and in the burned-out buildings to her right, a robot and a ghoul had set up a couple of well-lit shops. They looked rather inviting, despite Goodneighbor's reputation.

A grizzled, scarred-up man noticed her and came over from one of the shops. "Hey, you. You new in Goodneighbor? Can't go walkin' around without insurance."

River ground her teeth furiously. She'd just fought tooth-and-nail to make it past a whole camp of mutants and their savage hounds - had to beat one off of Dogmeat with the butt of her rifle, until the meat of its brain showed. She wasn't about to let some asshole intimidate her into giving up what few caps she had.

Dogmeat picked up on her anger, a menacing growl deep in his throat.

"If you don't back the fuck off, you're the one who's gonna need insurance," she hissed threateningly, fingers tightening around her rifle. Maybe it was the blood caked over half of her face and neck or the crazed look in her eye from all the leftover adrenaline, but something seemed to get through to him.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there. I can see you're not interested. I'll leave you alone."

"Finn."

River and her harasser both turned to see the ghoul striding over from the alleyway. She hadn't seen a tricorner hat like his in a long, long time, and with the old-fashioned coat and boots, he really had the whole look going. It suited him.

"Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest," he told the man named Finn, his rough voice heavy with threat. "You lay off that extortion crap."

"What d'you care?" Finn snapped, the tone of a petulant child caught doing something he oughtn't, a seriously unattractive feature in a grown man. "She ain't one of us."

"No love for your mayor, Finn? I said leave her be."

"You're soft, Hancock. You keep lettin' outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor."

"Come on, man," the ghoul called Hancock growled, stepping closer to Finn. "This is me we're talkin' about. Let me tell you somethin'." And then, while River looked on in horror, Hancock pulled a knife from the sheath at his side and stabbed Finn, twice in quick succession, deep into the man's side.

"Now, why'd ya have to go and say that, huh?" Hancock lamented, a thread of excitement betraying his casual tone as Finn collapsed. "Breakin' my heart over here." He turned to River where she was trying to disappear into the wooden gate behind her, Dogmeat planted protectively in front of her feet. "Easy there, pup, I'm not gonna hurt ya. You all right, sister?"

River was still deciding how much she could relax in the presence of a man she'd just witnessed commit savage homicide when Dogmeat trotted happily forward and rolled over onto his back at Hancock's feet, right next to the man he'd just butchered. The ghoul rubbed his belly with a smirk, a redhead in metal armor watching with a roll of her eyes from the entrance to the alleyway. If this man really was the mayor, she must have been his formidable body guard. He'd killed one of his own citizens to keep her safe, quite spectacularly, too, and she'd always enjoyed a man with a flair for the dramatics. "Thanks for the back-up," she said finally, coming over to shake his hand.

"Damn, you must be her," he rasped triumphantly, his palm and fingers coarse against her own. "The Woman out of Time, right?"

"The what? Oh, for the love of . . . I knew I'd end up regretting that stupid interview, but Piper was so adorable, I couldn't tell her no."

Her rant seemed to amuse Hancock. "Not every day a pre-war relic walks into my town. I'm Hancock, mayor of Goodneighbor. You need anything, anything at all, you let me know."

"That's awfully generous of you." River's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Most people expect something in return."

"You hear that, Fahrenheit?" he called to the redhead over his shoulder with a grin. "Smart girl we got here. The Commonwealth might not be ready for someone like you, but I think you're perfect for Goodneighbor. You want to come 'round the old state house, and I'll take a look at that arm for you?"

River remembered suddenly the wound in her arm. If he wanted to kill her and take everything she owned - honestly, not much, certainly not worth the trouble - he and his deadly-looking bodyguard could do it any time they wished. If they wanted to help clean her up first, she wasn't going to complain.

"After you, Mr. Mayor."

Hancock laughed, and over the sound River could just hear Fahrenheit's dark chuckle. "I can tell I'm gonna like you already. You just consider this town your home away from home. So long as you remember who's in charge," he added pointedly as he led her into the state house.

"How could I forget?" she remarked under her breath, peering around in curiosity. It was impressive how little it had changed. Like most buildings, it had suffered structurally from all the destruction, but it looked almost just how she remembered it. There were a few guards standing around dressed in suits, reminding River abruptly of Ellie's description: _People with power there care about two things: style and body count._ She followed the strange pair up the spiral staircase to an open office, where almost every surface in the room was littered with chems of every kind.

Hancock pushed an armful of them aside on the coffee table and sat down on it, patting the couch in front of him. "Come on over, sister. Let me take a look at that arm."

"I don't think it's too bad." She sank down onto the couch and pulled the now useless plate of armor from her shoulder, hissing when it put pressure on the wound. The sleeve of her shirt was soaked through in blood and torn over the angry red patch of skin that was left.

"Yeah, you got lucky. Just barely grazed ya. Med-x helps the sting, don't it? 'Cept you didn't take much. I bet ya can still feel it."

"How could you tell?"

Hancock chuckled. "Years of experience." His thumb brushed over the spot where she'd stuck the needle in. "I don't know if you could tell from the look of my office, but we don't judge people for shit like that here. You do what it takes to survive, and from what I heard of your story, you could use a little relaxation." He found a stimpak among the mess on the coffee table and slid it into her skin. "One more of these and you'll be fine. Was it mutants?"

She nodded inattentively, suddenly so tired it was hard to keep her eyes open. "To the . . . to the southeast."

"I keep tellin' ya we gotta do something about them," he told Fahrenheit, getting to his feet. "They're gonna start pickin' people off before they make it to the front gate."

"And I've told _you_ , we don't have the manpower to face them head-on. We let them come to us. Trust me, it's the smartest move."

Their voices started to fade as exhaustion took over. Dogmeat rested his chin on her thigh, ever watchful. She stroked his head until she couldn't will her arm to move anymore, and fell asleep with the comforting weight of him beside her.

"Oh. I think your pre-war relic is asleep."

"Do me a favor, Fahrenheit. Keep an eye on her while she's in town, all right? Pretty face like hers, I don't want anybody gettin' any smart ideas like ol' Finn."

"Sure."

"Takes a strong kind of woman to put up with what she's gone through. She doesn't need any more trouble on her plate."

Fahrenheit smiled wickedly. "Better keep your hands to yourself, then."

He sighed, disappointed. "I suppose it's for the best. Even if it is no fun."

* * *

River woke up abruptly, inhaling a gasp of shock. She sat up on the couch, head spinning, trying to remember where she was.

The redhead Fahrenheit came over, staring down at her with a detached sort of interest. "I wouldn't make it a habit, falling asleep on a stranger's couch. Not everybody is as welcoming to guests as Mayor Hancock. In fact, most people aren't."

"Thanks for the advice. I'm sorry, I didn't expect to fall asleep like that."

"The med-x'll do that sometimes. Hancock had more questions for you, but he's handling some business out of town today. He said to make yourself at home, and to have a few drinks on him down at the Third Rail if you get thirsty." She parroted the words reluctantly, as if Hancock had made her practice them before he left.

She shook her head, trying not to smile. "I don't know if I could ever repay him his hospitality."

"Just try not to die while you're here, and we'll call it even."


	5. MacCready for Action

Fahrenheit lounged in the darkest corner of the Third Rail, a cigarette burning down to the filter between her fingers. She took another lazy drag of smoke, tracking the sway of River's hips as she came down the stairs. Hancock's favorite new antique was looking mighty scrumptious in her leathers - they fit her like a second skin, like somebody fucking poured her into them, and wasteland women just didn't have _curves_ like those anymore. It was going to be fun watching Hancock try to stay away from her - strange and beautiful was just his type.

The white-haired wonder seemed mesmerized by Magnolia's voice. She drifted like a magnet toward the stage, that dog on her heels just like always, and she wondered what exactly the woman had said to convince Ham to let the mutt in. Doubted she was half as thrilling or mysterious as Hancock thought she was, but she was certainly easy on the eyes.

A drifter at one of the back tables noticed her hovering and said something to her, something that made her brows push together in confusion. Fahrenheit was ready to spring to her defense when the drifter turned back around, the conversation evidently over.

_Better be over, asshole._

River glanced toward the backroom, a question still etched into the delicate features of her face. Her dog sniffed around the floor, heading vaguely in that direction, and she followed after him like a lost little lamb. Fahrenheit got to her feet, and if she weren't so irritated she could've almost laughed.

 _All the time in the world, and the Gunners choose_ now _to chase him down. I better get a fucking raise after this. I ain't a babysitter._

* * *

"You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you're still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?"

MacCready stared up at Winlock from under the brim of his hat. "You finished?"

Winlock sneered, looking like he wanted nothing more than to tear him in half right then and there, like he was weighing how much shit he'd be in if he just did it. "Yeah . . . we're finished." He was just turning to leave when a dog burst into the room, weaving around their legs to get to MacCready. Winlock nearly knocked down the tiny woman with white hair that came chasing in after it, a snarled curse under his breath.

She stared up at him with a challenging edge in her eyes, and if MacCready had been an idiot to not let Winlock scare him, then this lady was absolutely fucking crazy. Her jaw worked as she looked him up and down. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she hissed, and something about her tone made the apology sound more like an insult. "I just need to get my dog."

"You should back off before I make you disappear, lady," Winlock growled, leaning in over her. MacCready felt something snap, sharp and painful between his ribs. His entire body buzzed with energy, screaming at him to get up and put himself between them, protect this delicate, idiotic stranger from those massive hands that could crush her skull like glass between them. He wouldn't just stand by this time, not again -

"If that's a pick-up line, it's a little strong for my taste." She slid out from beneath him and spotted the dog sitting on the floor at MacCready's side. Then she walked past Winlock, easy as the wind, like he was her very last concern on a very long list. "I'm sorry about that," she said flippantly, and MacCready realized a beat too late that she was talking to him. The end of her lips quirked up, so quickly he almost missed it. "He likes tense, awkward situations."

"Got a good nose for it." When he looked up over her shoulder, Winlock and Barnes were already gone.

The woman scolded the dog under her breath, a crease of frustration in her brow. MacCready took the opportunity to really look at her. Her hair stood out like a beacon, long and soft and white enough nearly to blind, gathered into a coil high on the back of her head. She glanced in his direction and for the briefest moment, they met gazes. Her eyes were amber, somewhere between orange and gold, half-hidden under heavy lids. Between her pink, parted lips, he could just see the brilliant white of her teeth. As if she sensed where his eyes lingered, she popped her gum, snapping him out of his trance.

MacCready swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat. After all the shit he'd been through, he knew two things: danger and trouble, and this lady was both of them in spades, wrapped up tight in leather pants. "Look, lady," he started, watching her brow arch up with enough condescension to render any lesser - or wiser - man speechless, "if you're preachin' about the atom or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun," _not fucking likely_ "then maybe we can talk."

She rose to her full height, and even though she was shorter than him, her legs seemed to go on for-fucking-ever. "I do, actually," she said, drawing his eyes back up to hers, surprise in the smoke of her voice. "But it looks like you might come with a little baggage."

"Winlock and Barnes? Please. They're as stupid as they are massive. It's all the muscles, drains the blood from their brains." That one coaxed a laugh out of her, and he regretted it immediately - the sound settled like a searing heat, deep in the pit of his gut. "That's what you get when you tangle with the Gunners, but I made a clean break and started flying solo. Besides," he added, and why the _fuck_ was he still talking? "I work best on my own."

"Do you, now?" There it was again, boredom in her tone, the verbal equivalent of inspecting her fingernails, and the fact that she seemed to be doing it on purpose made it a thousand times more infuriating.

"Well, what about you?" he challenged her, working to keep the rising frustration out of his tone, even as a tiny part of him wondered vaguely if her hair was as soft as it looked. "How do I know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders with practiced ease. "You don't. That's part of the risk, right? Or did they not cover that in Merc 101?" This time, she couldn't keep the smile from her face.

"Can't argue with that," he managed, proud of how even his voice came out when his insides were twisting around like storm clouds. "I'll tell you what. Price is two hundred and fifty caps, up front. And there's no room for bargaining," he added, when something dark flashed in her eyes; he couldn't tell what, just that it didn't bode well for him at all. "What do you say?"

"You're probably not gonna believe this, but ever since I got mugged on the way home from class one night, I never carry that much cash on me." _Class? Cash? What the fuck is this lady on?_ "I've got the two hundred," she continued when he scowled. "But you'll have to trust me on the last fifty until we make it back to Sanctuary Hills."

MacCready searched her eyes, soft and bright under the long fringe of dark lashes. He wanted to be angry at her - she had no idea what little he had, and how much he needed - but there was no heat to his irritation, just a lingering weight in his stomach that felt like a big, red flashing bad omen.

He'd never been very good at picking up on those.

"You just bought yourself an extra gun."

The smile that lit up her face may as well have been the nail in his coffin. It spelled out his doom as clearly as if it were written across those delicate cheekbones, etched into the sensual line of her lips.

_This woman could break my fucking heart._

But caps were caps, so he did the adult thing and pushed all of his reservations deep down where they were easier to ignore and definitely wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass later. "All right, boss. You lead and I'll follow."

* * *

River settled onto an open seat at the bar, like she'd planned to do originally before Dogmeat pulled his disappearing act. "You must be Whitechapel Charlie," she said to the Mr. Handy behind the counter, the Union Jack plastered over the side of his chassis.

"S'pose that'd make you the broad who's drinkin' for free."

"Well, far be it from me to question Mayor Hancock's generosity."

"Yeah, I 'eard ya loud and clear, luv. Go on and order so I can move onto my payin' customers."

She glanced at the lanky mercenary over her shoulder, smiling when he immediately averted his gaze from her hair. "What's your poison, MacCready?"

He seemed surprised she said his name, but his voice was deceptively casual. "I'm a whiskey kinda guy."

"A man after my own heart. Two whiskeys, Charlie."

"'Ey, now, Mayor 'Ancock didn't say nothin' about MacCready drinkin' for free. Bad enough he sits in my bar all day, scarin' off the rest of my customers."

"Maybe just a discount, then," River appealed to him evenly. "Since I'm taking him off your hands." Her hand slid across the counter with the unmistakable scrape of caps on metal.

"Now you're speakin' my language." He pulled two bottles of whiskey from a cooler below the counter and set them down in front of her.

"Pull up a seat," she invited MacCready, patting the open barstool next to her. "I actually came in here to relax for a beat, before Dogmeat so rudely interrupted your tea party."

MacCready eased onto the stool, that comical mixture of amusement and irritation warring on his face. "Your caps," he said with a shrug, twisting open the whiskey she slid him.

She liked his easy nonchalance, liked the fact that she could see right through it even more. He was the epitome of what she could never be: the wasteland was in his blood and bones, the hard glint of distrust in his eyes, the natural way he handled the sniper rifle strapped to his shoulder, as if he'd been born with it. "My name's River, by the way." She held her hand out toward him.

After a moment of hesitance, he shook it. His hand was warm and rough, wrapping almost all the way around hers. "River," he muttered to himself, "Where have I heard . . . oh, _man_." MacCready glared at her in disbelief. "You're that pre-war lady, aren't you? That's why I can't figure you out. I thought you were just some vault dweller at first, but. . . ." He looked her up and down, as if seeing her again for the first time. "You're the real deal, aren't you?"

"As real as you or anyone else," she shot back, maybe a little defensively, but she didn't enjoy the searching way he was looking at her now.

He just smirked. Arrogance suited his features, made him look much younger, or maybe just more his age. "No wonder Fahrenheit's been keeping such a close eye on you."

"That's the only reason I was so confident earlier," she confessed, laughing. "She's been following me around since I woke up on Hancock's couch."

"Wow."

River felt her cheeks burn in mortification as MacCready tried to pull the old totally-not-laughing-just-coughing-suspiciously-into-my-fist move. " _Not_ like that," she snapped, which only made him laugh harder. "Perv."

"Look, you'd probably be the first woman to come through Goodneighbor who _hasn't_." His voice was warm with humor and admiration. "I just don't wanna hear about it."

"He's got charisma, I'll give him that, but I'm -" _I'm what?_ Her eyes dropped to the gold band around her ring finger. MacCready looked up for the first time from his whiskey, clearly seeking the end of her sentence. "I'm not really looking for something like that," she finished lamely, burning the bad taste the words left in her mouth with another sip of whiskey.

Whitechapel Charlie came whirring back over from the other end of the bar, slicing neatly through the lingering awkward tension. "Now that you're liquored up, got a proposition for ya," he told River quietly.

"I'm listening."

"I need a dirty girl to do some dirty, dirty work."

MacCready snorted into his whiskey, tried to cover it up with more coughing. River somehow managed not to laugh, but she could feel tears burn in her eyes from the effort.

"Blood on the pavement, bodies in the ground," Charlie went on, ignoring him. "That kind of thing. Interested?"

"I need a little more details first."

"I got a certain anonymous client who's payin' top dollar for a cleanup job. Three locations, everyone inside, no witnesses. Only catch? It's all in town, in the old warehouses, so I can't use my regulars. Too noticeable. That's where you come in."

River licked the taste of whiskey from her lower lip and leaned forward over the counter. "I don't do work unless I know who's paying the bills."

"All right, luv. Not like it's a big secret who I represent. Mayor 'Ancock is frontin' the caps. Internal political struggle, you know how it is."

"More than you know," she agreed with a hefty sigh. "What's the pay?"

"Two hundred caps, payment after it's done. And don't worry . . . I'll know when it is."

"Hmn." River could feel MacCready watching her, trying to learn her just like she was trying to learn him. "Three locations - that's a lot of bullets, and a lot of time. I'm gonna need a little more motivation."

"All right, all right, make it three hundred, then."

"Deal." River hopped up from the barstool, pleased as punch. Dogmeat was already on his feet and ready. "I'll take care of it."

"You betta. Now go out there and bust some heads."

The evening air was crisp when they left the Third Rail, a thick blanket of clouds blotting out the moonlight above, casting an inky darkness over the streets. "You pretty handy with that rifle?"

"You didn't pay me for the company."

River pursed her lips. How-many-snarky-comments-can-MacCready-make-in-a-row was quickly becoming her new favorite way to pass the time. It was almost impressive how quickly he rattled them off, like he had one prepared for every possible situation. Never took any of the bite out of them, either. Everybody always handled her with kid gloves once they found out who she was. ( _What I've been through. Not who I am.)_ MacCready just seemed exasperated. "Definitely right about that," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

He made a noncommittal grunt. _Not bad_ , it sounded like.

"You wanna take care of this warehouse business now?"

MacCready smiled cheekily. "You're the boss."

"Hmph." She turned to Dogmeat. "I want you to go to the state house and wait there for me, all right, boy?" When he whined, she patted his head. "Don't worry, I've got back-up. Go on." They waited until he'd disappeared around the corner before darting over to the first warehouse. MacCready braced a hand against the door frame, shielding her from view while she tried to pick the lock.

"Any day now, boss."

"Mac _Cready_."

He fell silent, but she could picture his smirk well enough already from memory. Once she found the perfect angle, she twisted the knob and the door swung free. The weight of her pistol in her hand was comforting now as she moved silently into the dark warehouse. Somewhere on the second story above them, she could hear footsteps. While MacCready closed the door slowly behind himself, River snuck further down the hallway. Pressing her back up to the wall near an open doorway, she listened for any movement in the adjacent room. She steeled herself with a long, slow breath, then met MacCready's expectant gaze at her side.

 _Ladies first_ , he mouthed.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. _Fine._ She peeked carefully around the edge of the doorframe and saw at least one thug, dressed sharp in a pressed suit, but there was a large part of the room she couldn't get an angle on. She took quick, careful aim and shot true, the red jet from her laser pistol hitting him right between the eyes. She'd almost forgotten that it sometimes resulted in disintegration.  _Probably never get used to seeing it, though._

There was a shout followed by rapid footsteps from deeper in the room, and River nearly tripped over her own feet trying to back up.

"Get down," MacCready barked suddenly behind her. She dropped down into a crouch as the second thug came through the doorframe, baseball bat in hand. He had just enough time to lift it before MacCready shot him right between the eyes. River scrambled out of the way of his falling corpse.

She got to her feet, couldn't help the small, appreciative noise in her throat. _Not bad_ , it probably sounded like.

MacCready looked more than a little smug as he reloaded his rifle. "We got company."

River was ready for them. She greeted each one with a shot from her pistol as they appeared on the landing. MacCready worked patiently, coolly, waiting to see which ones she hadn't downed on her first shot to deliver the killing blow. He was methodical and precise, letting out a triumphant whoop whenever he landed a particularly impressive shot. His energy was infectious. She found herself laughing before long, even as she tiptoed her way over body parts, poking at pin-striped pockets for caps and ammo.

"There could still be some left," she warned him as she climbed the stairs.

"I got your back."

They cleared out the last few easily enough, and after River ransacked the entire warehouse for anything valuable, they were already moving onto the next one. By the time they'd made their way up to the second floor of the warehouse next door, they'd developed a decent rhythm. MacCready was a good enough shot to cover her when she got careless, which was still embarrassingly frequent.

It wasn't until the third warehouse that they ran into some trouble. Namely, one of the thugs got a lucky shot off with his submachine gun, and also River may or may not have been standing out of cover a little bit. The bullet cracked her armor and sank like liquid fire into the flesh of her shoulder. She let out a horrid scream, dropping her pistol.

"Shi- stay back," MacCready hissed, shoving her further down behind the table they were using as cover. "Don't use a stimpak. We gotta get that out of there first."

"Out of - ? Oh, fuck." River fell back against the floor with an agonized groan. The pain throbbed like strikes of lightning through her body, made her thoughts race, frantic and incoherent. She groped in her bag for something to help - anything - maybe a med-x if she was lucky, and then her hand curled around the spherical shape of a frag grenade.

MacCready glanced her way in a lull between gunfire. "Hell, yeah," he agreed when she handed it to him. He pulled the pin and lobbed it toward the stairs, ducking down next to her. He helped her put pressure on her wound with one hand, fishing through her bag with the other. The grenade went off, shaking the entire building around them as their attackers screamed in pain.

"Keep holding that," he ordered her severely, making sure she kept pressure on her shoulder before he disappeared, her rarely-used shotgun in his hands. She tried to sit up, but couldn't bear the pain. Her hand was cramping and wet, soaked in her own blood, but she didn't even have the energy or focus to be nauseated.

MacCready reappeared maybe a few moments later, though it could've been hours; River was dancing the line of unconsciousness and it was difficult to keep track of time. He grabbed the medical box from her bag and flipped it open, pushing through the supplies inside. When he had what he needed, he rolled up his sleeves and gently pried the shattered armor loose from her shoulder. She whimpered pathetically, biting down into her bottom lip.

"Not gonna lie, this always hurts like hell. I'm gonna give you some med-x."

"Jesus, please," she grunted, and the briefest flash of amusement passed over his face. "If you laugh at me right now, MacCready, so help me _god_ -"

"I won't, I promise. Stay still." She felt the prick of a needle sliding into her arm and tried to calm her breathing, waiting anxiously for the dull sensation to kick in. MacCready scanned the area around them searchingly, then pulled his hat from his head and wedged the brim of it between her teeth. He slid a knife from the sheath on his belt, flicking it open with a swing of his hand.

"Mnnng!" she screeched, teeth sinking desperately into the brim of his hat.

"It's not far in," he insisted quickly, leaning over her shoulder. "Just don't move, okay?" She could already feel the thick fog of the med-x, making her mind sluggish. She felt the pressure of his blade at her shoulder, digging into her skin, briefly registered the strain in her throat as she shrieked around the brim of MacCready's hat. The pain was white hot fire, burning what felt like a hole clean through her shoulder. Her eyes were clenched shut, tears gushing down her cheeks as she struggled not to squirm away from the unbearable sting.

"Okay, okay, I got it, it's out," he shushed her, holding a rag to the wound. She heard him apply a few stimpaks to her shoulder, and combined with the med-x, the pain was reduced to a more tolerable ache.

River pulled his hat out from between her teeth and tossed it at him, earning herself a boyish laugh. "H-holy shit," she sighed heavily, lifting her good arm to wipe the sweat from her brow.

"First time?"

She groaned, tasting copper on the back of her tongue. "Thank you. I mean, also fuck you, a little bit, but mostly thank you."

He laughed again, seemingly against his will. Then he trained his face back into a scowl. "You probably shouldn't move for a bit," he advised when she started to wriggle impatiently.

"Yeah, I'm feelin' that. Be a dear and search the place for me?"

He rolled his eyes, his words sharp with sarcasm. "You got it, _boss_."

River focused on getting moving again while he was gone. The wound was no longer bleeding, but a deep bruise and tender, raw flesh remained. She managed to sit up without too much pain, and from here she could at least pack all of her stuff back up, even though most of it was now stained red with her blood.

MacCready came back down the steps, raising a tawny brow at the sight of her climbing shakily to her feet. "Let me help you, at least, if you're gonna be a hero." He hooked her good arm over his shoulders and lifted her easily to her feet. She grimaced at the lingering pain, but felt steady enough to walk.

"Thanks," she said, sliding her bag onto her good shoulder. "Seriously, I mean it. That was . . ." _kinda hot_ "impressive."

He shrugged off the compliment, turning away. "It's just something you learn how to do. I'm not the greatest at it. You're probably gonna have a scar, but you won't bleed out." He scowled when he noticed her smiling. "What?"

"Nothing." She laughed, that irritatingly tempting sound. "Let's go."

* * *

River stopped him when he reached for the door to the Third Rail.

"Jesus, we can't go in there! We look like serial killers," she complained, looking down at his blood-stained hands.

"It's your blood," he shot back defensively.

She ignored him. "Come on, I've got some water." She fished a can of purified water from her bag and splashed it over her arm and hands before handing it off to him.

"You do realize this is Goodneighbor, right? People don't ask too many questions around here."

"I'm not gonna get blood all over the counters and stools. I worked food service once, I know what it's like."

MacCready rolled his eyes, shaking the excess water from his hands. "This is a waste of water."

River just laughed, glancing over at his scowl. "Wait, wait." She reached up, slowly, and he almost jumped when she brushed her thumb along the line of his jaw, wiping clean a smudge of blood there. Her eyes lingered on his throat before she averted her gaze. "All right," she said simply, stepping away from him as if he'd burned her. Like _he_ was the one making things weird.

She didn't bother with any of the small talk this time, just marched straight up to Charlie and held her hand out. He passed her a cigarette carton, which she shook a few times, listening for the sound inside, before stowing it away into her bag. Once they were back outside, she slid the carton open and started counting, in tens, under her breath, scooping handfuls of caps out and stuffing them into a pocket of her bag. He watched with alternating curiosity and irritation until finally she slid the carton closed again and pushed it into his hands. "Your half," she clarified at the questioning look on his face.

"That's more than what you owed me," he blurted out, until he realized it sounded like he was refusing them. He took the cigarette carton before she could change her mind.

"Honestly, I probably owe you a whole lot more for helping me out back there." She looked away, toward the old state house, saving him the trouble of forming an answer. "Looks like Hancock is back. . . ."

MacCready turned, and together they watched the mayor stride through the front gate to meet a waiting Fahrenheit. He clapped the redhead on the shoulder and they exchanged a few words before he nodded in satisfaction. He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice. "Hey, River, MacCready!" he called in their direction. "Come join me for a drink, wouldja?"

"Try not to fall asleep on his couch this time," MacCready muttered under his breath as he passed her, laughing at the angry squeak she made in response. She was still making steamed little noises when they stepped into the state house, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He tried not to smirk.

Hancock already had a box of mentats in hand when they made it up to his office, Dogmeat leaping up from beside him on the couch. "When the hell did _this_ happen?" the mayor demanded of his bodyguard with a dramatic gesture at River and MacCready.

"Let me think," Fahrenheit said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Was that after she almost started a fight with Gunners in the Rail? Or maybe before they hunted down all the Triggermen holed up in your warehouses?"

"Goddamn." Hancock eased back in his seat, grinning widely. "You sure work quick, don't you?"

"Sorry for all the trouble." River smiled sheepishly. "I didn't come to Goodneighbor to make things difficult for you. I needed to learn a little more about Skinny Malone."

Hancock laughed. "That's pretty funny, considerin' you just killed almost thirty of his men."

"Oh." She dropped down into an open seat, running her hand down Dogmeat's fur. "That makes sense. The suits are . . . distinctive." She heaved a sigh. "You read Piper's article about me, right? So you know that I'm looking for my son."

Hancock's smile faded. "'Course."

"Well, I've heard there's a man who can help me, Nick Valentine. But he's been kidnapped by Skinny Malone and his men in Vault 114."

"Huh." The ghoul shook his head. "Old Nicky got himself kidnapped, did he? That's too bad. If anyone can help you get your kid back, it's him. Malone and his crew, though . . . that's a tough fight."

"She's aware," Fahrenheit cut in, eyeing River's bloody shoulder pointedly. She glared back, making the redhead smile.

"Well, you did right hiring MacCready," Hancock went on, stroking the edge of his jaw. "Good aim, if you can put up with that smart mouth of his."

"Thanks for that shining recommendation," he said acidly. "Remind me to put it on my business cards."

Hancock ignored him, but River laughed. "Look, I know Valentine. He's a good guy. If you're serious about tryin' to get him back, you have my full support. Guns, ammo, armor, you name it, it's yours."

"Hancock -" Fahrenheit started.

"Unless you're volunteerin' to go along with 'em, I don't want to hear it," he warned her. "Nick is an old friend. If I wasn't a little tied down right now, I'd be right there with ya. He sure as hell wouldn't expect to see _me_ comin' to his rescue." He lit up a cigar, exhaling a puff of thick smoke. "With those two by your side . . . you got a hell of a fightin' chance, at least."

"I've certainly faced worse odds," River joked. She tried to stifle a yawn into the back of her good arm. "Fahrenheit said you had some questions?"

He waved her concern away. "Another time. Go to the Rexford, tell 'em the rooms are on me. Get some sleep. I'll talk to some people, see what kind of help I can arrange for your little rescue mission."

"Why are you so willing to help me?" River tried not to sound rude, but she couldn't keep taking and taking without understanding his motives. "I couldn't possibly pay you back for all you've done. You must know that."

Hancock shrugged. "Plenty of folks wanna make life hard for people just tryin' to survive. Someone like you comes along, wantin' to help others even when you got your own troubles . . . that's an idea I can get behind. Now stop askin' so many questions and get the hell outta here."

River thanked him one last time before leaving. Neither of them said a word on the way over to the Rexford, Dogmeat padding cheerily along between their legs. Despite Hancock's offer, she paid Clair for two rooms, feeling MacCready's eyes on her back. There was no way he could've possibly known that she was fed up with all the handouts. He probably thought she was crazy, throwing caps around so frivolously. But "proud" was an all too accurate description when it came to River, no matter how much she hated her name, and she had a particular aversion to debts. She had enough ghosts in her life already without people hunting her down for something she owed them. She'd lost too many friends to her pride before the bombs even dropped.

MacCready stopped outside of his room, looking at her like he wanted to say something. She waited, watching him shift his weight from foot to foot. His duster was torn in places, frayed at the edges. She'd never been an expert or anything, but she could probably still work a needle and thread enough to patch it up for him. She wondered if he'd let her.

Finally he met her gaze, his blue eyes guarded. "If your shoulder still hurts, use a couple more stimpaks. You'll probably heal up okay, as long as it doesn't get infected."

River couldn't help a small laugh, which brought a shadow of that petulant scowl back over his face. "Thanks. I mean it. I owe you one." She unlocked her door and shot him one last smile. "Sweet dreams, MacCready." Then she and Dogmeat were gone, the door closing behind them.

MacCready dumped his bag and rifle onto the floor of his room, shrugging out of his jacket. The mattress was cool when he flopped down onto it. He pulled his hat off, sliding his fingers over the grooves in the brim from River's teeth earlier. He wondered how long it had been since she stepped out of her little fridge in Vault 111, what her life had been like before the bombs fell . . . all sorts of other dangerous, irritating questions he definitely should not have been so curious about.

_The less I know, the better._

He managed to fall asleep without thinking about her again, but he wasn't surprised when she ended up in his dreams.

_I am so fucked._


	6. Unlikely Valentine

River woke up at the crack of dawn, like she always did. She'd trained herself before Shaun was born to be an early riser so she'd have time to get ready before work. And now here she was, two centuries later, suffering yet another torment of her own creation. It was lucky Dogmeat never minded, eager and ready to face the day no matter how early she was up. She stalled for time, weaving her hair into a long, neat braid, making sure everything was organized and prepared in her bag if she needed it. But eventually she couldn't stand waiting around in her room anymore, so she threw on a black leather coat she'd found in Concord and took Dogmeat out into the hallway, leaving MacCready behind to get some sleep. He probably didn't get much of it in a town like this.

A man stepped out of his room down the hall and she paused, something about his yellow suit and hat jarring a memory loose. The day the bombs fell - she usually tried not to think about it. The memory always tore like claws at her resolve, far too risky to dwell on. But she definitely recognized _something_ about him.

He felt her watching him and turned, exposing the mottled skin of a ghoul. She searched his face, trying to place where she'd seen him before, when suddenly he stiffened.

"What?" he cried, stepping tentatively closer to her, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "No, it can't . . . it . . . it's you! From Sanctuary Hills, right?"

"Wait." River took him in, from the hat all the way down to his dress shoes, and remembered exactly where she'd seen him before. "You're from Vault-Tec, right?"

"I _am_ Vault-Tec," he growled, two centuries of frustration in his ruined voice. "Twenty years of loyal service and now look at me. I wasn't on the list. . . but you. Look at you. Two hundred years and you're still perfect! Your hair is different, but your _skin_ . . . how? How's that possible?"

He didn't seem armed, or even particularly dangerous, just on the verge of an emotional breakdown, but you could never be too sure how that might play out these days. River shifted one of her feet a few inches back, covering the motion by rubbing at her forearm. Dogmeat waited ready at her side, and she knew if he pulled anything, the two of them could probably handle it. And MacCready was just a shout away, a new sense of security she was still getting used to. "The Vault had cryo-pods that froze us," she explained quietly. "I slept the whole time. I only thawed out recently."

"What? Vault-Tec never told me that!" He made a disgusted sound. "Unbelievable! I had to get to the future the _hard_ way, living through the . . . the filth! The decay! And the bloodshed. . . . Look at me! I'm a ghoul! A freak!"

His sorrow hit River like a shard of ice, piercing cold between her ribs. "I'm so sorry." She knew too well how little the platitude meant against so much suffering, but she wasn't sure what else there even was to say. "I didn't know this would happen. I should have tried to help you, but there was no time . . . my husband and my _son_. . ."

Some of the irritation eased out of his expression, his shoulders drooping as the anger left him. "You know, you're the only other person I met from before. I . . . uh, I . . ." He choked back a sob, startling her. "Oh god . . . I've been so alone here! No Commonwealth settlement wants a ghoul with two hundred years of Vault-Tec sales experience!"

"Hey, hey, easy there," she soothed him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He seemed shocked she'd even touch him. "You know, I've been rebuilding Sanctuary with the Minutemen. We always need more hands to help out, if you want. If you head that way, I'll come visit. I promise."

"Really?" He actually smiled. "You . . . you will? Okay! I'll head over there right now. You promise you'll come visit, right?"

River nodded. "Absolutely."

"All right. I'll see you there!"

She and Dogmeat watched him go, a bouncing energy in his every step. The dog stared up at her, cocking his head to the side. "Come on, boy. Let's go see if anyone in this town has any coffee."

MacCready pressed up against the door, listening to the sound of her fading footsteps. It never took much to wake him up (deep sleepers didn't survive long in the wasteland) and the ghoul's loud whining right outside his door had dragged him by the heels out of deep, stage-four comatose sleep the likes of which he hadn't enjoyed in months. That had pissed him off enough to gun the ghoul down already, and then he'd started shouting at River, and MacCready had been two seconds from kicking down the door when the sound of her calm voice made him pause. He'd listened in silent fascination as she talked him down from the panic he'd worked himself up into, even got him to come _work for her_ and he'd walked off like she'd promised him ten thousand caps and a blowjob when he got there.

Hearing her talk about her family made his stomach twist with shame. He'd only been listening to make sure she'd be okay - _I mean, it's pretty fuckin' bad for business if the lady who hired you to watch her back dies in the first day -_ but the way her voice fell apart around the words _my husband_ and _my son_ was too much, too familiar, too similar to his own ghosts, and way too much fucking information if he wanted to keep things distant and professional.

He crossed the room to the bed and collapsed onto it, groaning into the mattress. She'd already paid him more caps than he'd asked for, and she _did_ work fast, if a little recklessly. At this rate, he got the feeling they'd keep rolling into more. Maybe even enough to get the Gunners off his ass for good, and that goal, if anything, was worth putting up with her for a while longer. It wasn't half as bad as the heartless violence of working with the Gunners, just a few masculine reactions to a beautiful woman and the overwhelming guilt and shame that tore through his chest each time. It wasn't the lust - that was tolerable, understandable, even. He was twenty-fucking-two, had been and would be alone for a very long time; he'd accepted that about himself already. No, it was all the stupid, tender shit, the way his body reacted to her voice like his ears had been craving the sound since the day he was born. How her smile made his stomach do uneasy flips.

It was dangerous, and infuriating, and it needed to be shut down real fast, or it was going to become a problem. Simmering beneath all the anxiety and the guilt and the grief, he recognized the smallest twinge of fear. He hadn't thought he could feel any of these little attractions anymore, not after what he'd lost. Those wounds were still too fresh to put pressure on - he thought he might shatter if he tried.

MacCready managed to fall asleep again, but his slumber was fitful and restless. He dreamt of nothing, and he woke up feeling empty.

* * *

"I don't believe it." River wiped at the tears spilling over from her eyes. "I never thought this day would happen."

Hancock held his arms out with a flourish at the Luxobrew coffee pot bubbling away on his coffee table. The steam curling out from under the lid carried the sharp smell of brewing coffee, and River almost felt faint at the familiar aroma.

"Everybody's got a weakness," he chuckled triumphantly.

"Hi, my name is River, and I'm a caffeine junkie," she confessed without an ounce of shame, hands curled around an empty mug in anticipation.

"You're lucky Irma's got a thing for antiques. She goes through all the trouble of collectin' all the little pieces from passing traders, takes her _years_ , mind you. Then she finally tries the stuff and can't stand it."

"Coffee's an acquired taste," she said, beaming gratefully at him. "This is a real treat, Hancock. Thank you."

"Not too often you get to put a smile like that one on a pretty dame's face," he teased, gesturing at her grin and laughing when she blushed. "And you're helpin' out two of my friends, so I don't mind spoilin' ya a little."

The coffee was done brewing, and River took the opportunity to gather her thoughts as she poured it slowly into her mug.

"How's that shoulder?"

She blew on her coffee to cool it down, savoring the familiar feeling of the hot porcelain in her hands, the strong smell that made her miss home. "I think it's mostly healed. MacCready's pretty handy with a blade. If he hadn't been there . . ." She shrugged, staring down at her mug. "I'm still getting used to this whole wasteland thing."

Hancock leaned back against his desk. "For what it's worth, you're tougher than you look. I didn't really need to step in that night we met. You'd already scared Finn off. But sometimes a mayor's gotta make a point."

River took a tentative sip, smiling at the bitter taste she hadn't had since before her pregnancy. "Sure you weren't just showing off?" she teased.

"I'm always showin' off." He smirked when she laughed. "Case in point: I spoke to KL-E-0 and Daisy and got you a new set of armor and enough ammo for an army. Skinny Malone's not gonna know what hit him."

"Hancock -" she started to protest.

He held a hand up. "I know what you're gonna say, toots, and don't waste your breath. I'm not doin' it for you, I'm doin' it for Nick. You're his best chance at makin' it out of there alive." He paused a beat, drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk. His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Okay, and maybe I'm a little soft on you. If anyone asks, I'm fucking ya on the side, all right? I've got a reputation to uphold. 'Course, if you're interested, we could always make that a reality. . ."

River couldn't help but laugh, even as her cheeks burned in embarrassment. "My god, you're forward."

"I didn't get to be mayor of the best damn city in the Commonwealth by bein' timid. I got a few questions for ya, doll-face. You up for 'em?"

She held her coffee up. "I'm ready for anything now."

"What was it _like_?"

River stared at him, trying to process exactly what he was asking. "What was what like? Being frozen? I mean, cold, obviously, but -"

"No, toots. What was it like before the bombs dropped?"

"Oh." She felt her cheeks flush. "I'm sorry, I thought. . . ."

"I know. 'Cause of the whole king of the zombies look and the duds, you'd think I was pre-war, too, but I actually had a smooth set of skin when I rolled into town about a decade ago. When I was younger, I would go on these, like . . . wild tears. Any chems I could find, the more exotic, the better. Finally found this experimental radiation drug. Only one of its kind left, and only one hit."

River took in the reminiscence in his tone, the dark black of his eyes staring off into the distance. "It turned you ghoul."

He grinned, clearly harbored no regrets. "Oh, man, the high was so worth it. And what's not to love about immortality? So I wanna know what it's _like_ , livin' to see another world."

"You read Piper's article."

"I don't want the sappy optimism, I want your real opinion."

"Fine." As soon as she started to speak, she could feel the flood gates breaking open, her thoughts unfurling into a long-winded rant she'd been holding in for months now. "This world _sucks_. I got _shot_ the other day, and this kid who's practically a teenager dug the bullet out of me with a knife. I miss when things made sense, when things were peaceful. You woke up in the morning and put on your make-up and went to work, and nobody ever shot at you, and money was _money_ , not bottlecaps, whatever genius thought _that_ bright idea up." She took a deep, calming breath, feeling suddenly self-conscious under Hancock's intent stare. "But it's not the end of the world. I mean, it really should be. My husband's dead. My son's been kidnapped. But I meant it when I said there are things to be hopeful about." She shrugged. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you adapt. You survive. Whatever the future holds for you, Hancock . . . I'm sure you can handle it."

The ghoul nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks for that. Must be tough to talk about your family. I'm sorry to bring 'em up."

She waved his concern away. "Talking about them or not doesn't change a thing."

"Maybe not." He popped open a tin of mentats, offering her one of the capsules, but she refused. "So you were a lawyer, huh?"

One long game of twenty questions and several cups of coffee later - interspersed here and there with a little shameless flirting for good measure - Hancock finally let her go try on her new armor. She was practically shaking from all the caffeine as she thundered down the spiral staircase, barreling over MacCready on his way up. He managed to keep himself upright and somehow catch her before her face hit the ground, Dogmeat running excited laps around their legs. MacCready made sure she was balanced on her feet and took a step back, that scowl on his face again.

"MacCready! I - good morning." She tugged anxiously at the end of her braid, trying for a smile. "Did you have a nice sleep?"

One of his brows shot up skeptically, making her wonder if that was even a question people asked anymore. He left it unanswered. "What's the plan today, boss?"

"Hancock got me a new set of armor. I was just about to go take a look. Don't worry," she added at the brief look of dread that passed over his face. "I won't make you run errands with me. Just be ready to leave tonight."

"Where are we going?" he demanded of her retreating back.

"We're going to get Nick Valentine back!" she called over her shoulder before disappearing through the door.

MacCready glared at the cracked wood long after she was gone, trying to banish the smell of her hair from his sensory memory. Everything new he learned about her was too much information, and now the fact that she smelled like vanilla was bouncing around in his head, just as difficult to ignore as the rest of her.

* * *

When they met up again that night, River looked like a completely different person. Sporting a full set of metal armor over her road leathers, snowy hair pinned into a severe bun, Dogmeat armored and ready at her side, she might've actually passed for wasteland. Except for the bright smile that lit up her face when she saw him.

"Hey. I have some ammo for you." She shook her bag indicatively. "Hancock extorted half of Goodneighbor to help get Valentine back. So, you know . . . no pressure."

"You're runnin' with the best," he assured her. "I'll get you in and out of there in one piece." _And then hopefully never, ever see you again._

River popped a stick of gum into her mouth, lips twisting up into a wry smile. "Thanks."

This was the difficult part of being a mercenary: setting off into the wasteland with the new boss, alone. Beyond the fear of being stabbed and left for dead in the middle of the night or kidnapped and offered up as a sacrifice to the Atom, it was always just . . . awkward.

And so it began between him and River on the thankfully short walk to Park Street Station, first with a painful, blistering silence that stretched on with no end in sight. She was chatty as all hell with Hancock, but now that it was just the two of them alone, the endless stream of her curious, confusing thoughts seemed to have dried up.

Then, quite abruptly, as if just to prove him wrong, she made a loud, frustrated noise. "Okay. I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure how the whole mercenary-employer thing works. Last help I hired came 'round to fix my TV set, if that gives you some idea of what I'm working with over here."

MacCready shrugged, one of the few reactions he felt confident giving her. "You point, and I shoot. Pretty simple arrangement."

"Says the guy who pried a bullet out of my shoulder yesterday." She sighed. "I guess I just . . . want to apologize, ahead of time. If it seems like I'm new at all of this, it's because I am. I won't be as useful a partner as anybody you've worked for before."

"You're still alive. That's already more than a lot of people out here can say."

"You're right about that," she agreed in a small voice.

MacCready watched her turn away to stare off into the darkness. _Great job. Remind the grieving widow she's the only one left of her family._ He scrambled for some way out of yet another hole he'd dug himself into. "How long have you been out here anyway?"

River looked back his way, brows pushing down in concentration. "Maybe . . . three months? I spent some time helping the Minutemen. That's all the training I have, really. I was lucky to find you." She smiled again. "As much as I love Dogmeat, you can't beat actual fire support."

"The Minutemen? Didn't know they were still around."

"They weren't." The smile turned proud. "Now they're back."

It was quiet when they finally reached the Commons, River marching determinedly past the KEEP OUT scrawled ominously onto the surface of an upturned table. MacCready and Dogmeat followed her down the stairs and into the old subway station.

She moved with impressive silence, even the heavy soles of her boots falling noiselessly on the tile beneath their feet. Dogmeat seemed accustomed to her quiet way of slipping into battle. MacCready? He'd always been more of a let's-keep-things-distant kind of a guy; preferred to operate from so far away nobody could even hear his footsteps. But they didn't have much of a choice in a subway station, so he lagged behind the two of them, rifle at the ready.

River crouched at the doorway, peeking into the adjacent room, tracking the people inside. She held up four fingers over her shoulder at MacCready, then pulled her laser pistol out. After murmuring something to Dogmeat, she lined up a shot and killed at least one triggerman, retreating with sure steps backwards to draw them into the hallway. Dogmeat tackled the first one to make it through the door, snarling as he tore savagely at the man's throat. River focused on the last two, who were firing at her from cover deeper in the room.

MacCready knelt down and put his eye to the scope of his rifle. One triggerman peeked his head out only to lose it a second later, his blood splattering the dingy white tile behind him.

"Go, Dogmeat," River ordered, pushing into the next room to take down the last man. Dogmeat sprinted around the pillar where he was taking cover and snapped his jaw down around his foot. The man brought his pistol down onto the back of the dog's head, drawing a pitiful whine of pain.

"Leave my dog alone, you son of a bitch!" River shot the man in the chest, sending him crashing down onto his back and his rifle skittering across the room. She leapt at him, slamming the butt of her gun down into his face until he'd fallen still, his head an unrecognizable mess of blood and bone.

"Are you okay, buddy?" River panted, rubbing gingerly behind his ears. He licked her face assuredly, making her smile in relief. "Good. You kicked ass. And you," she called over to MacCready, who looked up from the corpse he was searching. "You're amazing with that thing!"

"Aw, come on," he said absently, reloading his rifle. "You don't mean that."

"I mean every word I say," she promised him, kicking the corpse she'd just mutilated over to check his back pockets. After stashing away two stimpaks, she led them deeper into the subway station. They cleared their way to the vault with that same methodical rhythm: River drew them out, took down as many as she could with her pistol and Dogmeat's help, and MacCready cleaned up whoever was left.

He paused at the sight of the hulking vault door, in that iconic, circular shape. River walked right up to the control panel and plugged her Pip-Boy into it to get it going. He hadn't stepped foot in one of these in years, and that had been at Charon's side, to find music paper for an old lady in exchange for the .44 that sat to this day in the holster at Leah's hip.

"I don't mean to brag or anything," River prattled as she pressed the button to open up the giant door, probably alerting far too many people to their presence. "But my vault had an elevator."

The ear-shattering squeal of the door sliding open drowned out his laughter. "And cryo-pods that froze you for two hundred years. I'd almost rather chance the stairs."

She smiled wistfully. "I know, it sounds like something out of an _Unstoppables_ comic. Except I didn't get any superpowers, just some really cold fingers and toes. Plus, I don't have that _oomf_ the Mistress of Mystery has." She pulled her pistol out and stormed across the platform that stretched out to the catwalk where they stood. The triggerman on the other side never knew what killed him.

Seemed like she had plenty _oomf_ from where MacCready was standing. He tried to imagine her in a finely-pressed pre-war dress, flipping through the crisp pages of a comic book in pristine condition. Then quickly cast the mental image from his head, tracking the last triggerman in his scope as he ran toward River. He lifted his blade right as MacCready landed the headshot, killing him instantly with the wet sound of bursting flesh.

When River turned, half her face and one side of her hair were coated with blood. Her eyes widened almost comically as she lifted an arm to wipe the blood from around her mouth. "Ma-MacCready, it's _everywhere_ -"

"Don't you fall apart on me now," he whispered, maybe a little harsher than he'd intended when her lips gave a sudden quiver. _Oh man, oh man, oh man._ He quickly pulled one of his rattier shirts from his bag and shoved it at her. "Here, use this."

She scrubbed at her face, staining the white cotton crimson with the dead triggerman's blood. Once she'd cleaned most of her skin, she dropped the ruined shirt and kicked it aside. In that small stretch of time, she seemed to have pulled herself together. "Thanks. Let's keep going."

River was focused and fucking mean as they fought their way deeper into the vault, as if she were holding each triggerman personally responsible for the blood that still clung to her jaw and hair. Her anger had Dogmeat all riled up - the dog took off like a feral beast, destroying ankles between his teeth and chomping at necks and shoulders when his prey fell. He'd seen River flinch at some of the more grotesque violence they'd come across - and caused - in their short time together, but she was so upset over her hair it counteracted her squeamishness.

By the time they made it to the vault's atrium, where they could see a triggerman on the third level, she seemed to have calmed back down. She waited, crouched, in the doorway, listening to the man's voice as it carried loudly around the large room.

"How ya doin' in there, Valentine?" he taunted the detective through a glass window. "Ya hungry? Ya wanna snack?"

"Keep talkin', meathead," Valentine's voice echoed toward them. "It'll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he's gonna bump you off!"

"You wanna take him out?" River offered, looking at him over her shoulder.

He smirked. "If you insist." He pressed his eye to the scope, lining up the shot. When he pulled the trigger, and the guy's body dropped immediately after, he heard River inhale the tiniest breath next to him. He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at her, but her face was passive, that practiced, unreadable mask she wore so easily sometimes.

She took off at a sprint up to the third story, surprisingly agile even in her new, heavier armor. When she reached the overseer's office, she peered through the window, pressing her hands to the glass.

The dark brim of a worn fedora tipped her way, the flame of a flip lighter underneath meeting a cigarette clenched between metallic, skeletal fingers. "I don't know who you are," Valentine's gravelly voice called out to them, "but we've got about three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain't comin' back. Get this door open!"

"Search him." River nodded at the triggerman MacCready had killed, stepping over his corpse to reach the terminal against the wall. She tapped at the keyboard until it came to life and started scanning the words and symbols for a way in.

MacCready pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the corpse's pocket, turning it right-side up to read it. "Hey, I found the passwo-"

"Got it," River announced triumphantly as the keyboard slid back into place beneath the screen and the door slid open beside her.

Nick Valentine stepped under the overhead lighting, and River saw for the first time the fractured panels of his face and neck, exposing wires and circuits that ran underneath his metal skin. "Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?"

MacCready had to admit, even he hadn't known Valentine was a _synth_. But River really took it in stride, didn't even let the surprise register on her face. Maybe she didn't know enough about synths to fear them like everyone else; maybe she was just that desperate to find her son. "It's . . . a long story, one you've probably heard before. But we can talk once we get you out of here, Detective."

Valentine's eyebrows - or rather, the place where they might be - dipped downward for a moment before he nodded in agreement. "Let's blow this joint. Then we'll talk." The detective rushed out of the room. River shot MacCready a glance before taking off after him, Dogmeat on her heels. MacCready trailed at the back of their strange little troupe.

Valentine explained, in between gunfire on their way out, that he'd come after some missing girl, only to find out she was Skinny Malone's new squeeze.

River snorted with laughter, then covered her mouth, looking apologetic.

"It's all right, doll. I know it sounds like a bad noir flick. Believe me, I'm used to it by now."

She smiled admiringly. "I always was a fan of those old movies."

Nick glanced up from the control panel he was working, trying to get them through another locked door. MacCready watched the golden glow of his eyes start at River's face and run down the length of her body. "You either got a good memory or a good imagination."

"Something like that."

_Are they actually flirting? This is the weirdest fucking day of my life._

"Okay, I got it. But I hear big, fat footsteps on the other side. Once we step through this door, get ready for anything."

The door slid open and Nick was the first to step through. Skinny Malone waited in his black suit and hat, the lady Valentine had come after wielding a bat at his side, like they made some kind of intimidating picture.

"Nicky?" Malone hollered, his gut shaking with anger. "What're you doin'? You come into my house, shoot up my guys? You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?"

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often."

MacCready had to hand it to him; for a tin can, he sure knew all the nuances of condescension.

"Aww," the woman mocked him in her high, babyish voice that felt like sharp nails down the back of his spine, "poor little Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a _girl_? I'll just run back home to daddy, shall I?"

River shot MacCready a disgusted glance, and he barely suppressed a snort of laughter.

"Shoulda left it alone, Nicky," Malone was droning on. "This ain't the old neighborhood. In this Vault, I'm king of the castle, you hear me? And I ain't lettin' some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin'!"

"I _told_ you we should've just _killed him_ , but then you had to get aaaall _sentimental_. All that stupid crap about the 'old times!'" the woman hissed, stomping her foot petulantly, fists coiling around the base of her bat. "What're these people doin' here, huh? Valentine must've brought them here to rub us all out!"

River looked back and forth between Malone and his woman with narrowed eyes. Then she smiled almost thoughtfully. "Skinny," she called confidently, lowering her pistol. "Remember the Quarry. Lilly June on the rocks. That ring any bells for you?"

The anger disappeared from Malone's face. "H-how the hell did you know about that?!" He sighed. "Okay. You guys can go. You got until the count of ten. Then I don't care _what_ happened back in the old days - you're _dead_."

"We better get outta here," Nick growled, pulling River by the hand toward the exit as Malone started to count. They left the vault and Nick led them to a ladder to the surface, making sure River made it out first before helping MacCready hoist Dogmeat up into her arms. After MacCready finally made it out, she shoved the manhole cover shut with her boot.

"Ah, Commonwealth sky," Nick sighed, casting his eyes upward at the dark evening clouds. "Who knew something so naturally ominous could be so comforting?" He turned to River, who was applying a stimpak to one of Dogmeat's legs. "So, I imagine you want to talk. I want you to come to my office in Diamond City and give me all the details. Besides . . . I think you've earned a chance to sit down and clear your head."

"I know the way. We'll meet you there, Nick." She paused, smiling slowly. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Valentine tipped his hat and they watched him leave down the alley.

MacCready shouldn't have asked, but he found himself blurting out the words before he could stop himself: "How did you know what to say to that guy? He looked ready to gun us down."

River turned pensive eyes his way. "I have a friend who can . . . I don't know, see things. Things that haven't happened yet. She told me before I left that I'd meet a fat man and an angry woman, so I repeated what she told me. I guess it was a bit of a gamble, but. . . ." She laughed, that silk and smoke sound that fogged his brain. "She was right about you."

MacCready blinked, only registering her words as she and Dogmeat started to walk away. "Right about -? River, wait up!" He groaned and slung his rifle over his shoulder, jogging to catch up to the sound of her laughter.


	7. Getting a Clue

When they got to Diamond City, the morning sun was just beginning its slow crawl up over the horizon, chasing away what little darkness remained from the previous night. It felt like River's muscles grew heavier with each step she took, the kick of caffeine that had fueled her earlier long gone, leaving behind the-crash-to-end-all-crashes. She swayed and stopped for a moment, leaning against a wall for support.

"You look exhausted," MacCready sighed behind her. "We've been up all night. Why don't you get some sleep before -"

"I'll be okay," she promised, forcing herself to stand at full height even as her body ached in protest. "Let's just get to Nick's."

"Fine. But I'm not carrying you if you pass out."

She glanced back at him, arms crossed over his chest, that infamous glower she was growing somewhat fond of on his face. Something about his petulance was so entertaining. _We spend all night shooting down gangsters and_ I'm _the irritation._ She fished a string of bottlecaps from her bag and held it out to him. "If you want to run ahead and get us a couple rooms at the Dugout, I'll meet you there afterwards."

MacCready hesitated, staring at the caps in her hand. Finally, after a long moment, he shook his head. "I'm with you, boss."

They moved down the alley, unusually quiet in the early morning, and River rapped at Valentine's door with her knuckles. A few moments later Ellie pulled it open, a wide grin on her face.

"Oh, I knew you could do it!" she cried, pulling River into a tight hug. She couldn't help a smile. It had been a while since she'd been hugged.

"Ellie, our guests have been through a helluva night," Nick chuckled from his seat behind the desk. "Why don't you let them come in and sit down first."

Ellie reluctantly let River go, guiding her toward a chair opposite Nick. "I'm sorry! Please, come in. You must be tired." She spotted the blood sticking to River's hair and gasped. "Are you all right?"

"Don't worry, it's not mine," River assured her. Dogmeat curled up on the ground near her feet and she stroked his fur.

Nick nodded approvingly. "Go get her something to help clean up, Ellie."

"I think we have some clean rags upstairs." His assistant was already disappearing down the hall.

"Please, take a seat," Nick added to MacCready, who was hovering awkwardly in the doorway. He dropped down into the chair next to River without a word. "In all the chaos, I never got a chance to properly introduce myself, though since you came all that way to help me, I s'pose you already know who I am."

"I do, Detective."

Nick laughed, a rough, gravelly noise that somehow set River at ease. "You can just call me Nick."

River smiled indulgently. "I used to work with law enforcement officers all the time. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"Believe me, I would know. Especially ones that aren't yours." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his coat. "I really owe you one for savin' my neck back there. Now Ellie said you need help finding someone. You've come to the right place. Why don't we start with your name?"

"I'm River." This time, when she extended her hand to another person, he shook it easily, a familiar gesture, even if the leathery texture of his hand felt foreign. "This is my friend MacCready. I tracked you down, because my son is missing, but. . . ." She took a deep breath. "I don't exactly know who took him, or how long ago he disappeared."

Ellie returned with a pail of water and a rag. "Gonna be cold," she warned her, waiting for River to nod before she started dabbing delicately at the blood in her hair.

"I've made do with less information," Nick said, a cigarette in the skeletal fingers of one hand and a pen in the other. "These kinds of cases, the devil is in the details. Tell me everything you know, no matter how painful it might be. It won't leave this room."

River steeled herself with a sigh. She'd never said these words to anyone before, not out loud all at once, just a little here or there when it was necessary. It was a defense mechanism; if she didn't speak them, she didn't think them, and if she didn't think them, they couldn't hurt her. But she couldn't run from them anymore, not when Shaun was out there somewhere, wondering where his parents were - _who_ his parents were probably, and the thought of her only child not even knowing she existed nearly stole the breath from her lungs. "I lived with my husband and my son in Sanctuary Hills two hundred and ten years ago," she began, focusing on the end of Nick's pen as he scrawled the information down. "Nate had just retired from military service. Shaun wasn't even a year old. This . . . Vault-Tec guy kept hounding us for days, trying to talk to us, but . . ." She laughed. "I hated people then almost as much as I do now. The morning I finally decided to speak to him, just to get him to leave us alone, he took down our information for a place in a nearby vault, Vault 111. That was the morning of October 23rd, 2077."

Nick stopped writing. "You have good timing," he remarked dryly.

"Is that -?"

"The day the bombs fell," he confirmed for Ellie.

"We barely made it down to the vault in time. I remember thinking I was going to die because of a slow elevator." She would never forget a single detail of when the bombs dropped, the rushing heat and wind, that paralyzing swell of panic, watching the fear in Nate's eyes and wondering if this would be the last moment they shared together. It would've been a better one than the one they got. At least then she'd had the chance to tell him she loved him, one last time. "It was some sort of cryo-facility. They froze us in these pods. Nate took Shaun into his. They sealed us up and we slept."

"You were on ice, huh?" Nick set his cigarette down into an ashtray so he could free up his other hand, holding his pad of paper steady while he took notes. "More importantly, you were underground and sealed up tight. That's a lot of obstacles to get through just to take one person. What else can you tell me?"

"Someone woke us up - I don't know how long we'd been asleep. It was a man, and a woman. They didn't say much. I was still waking up when they opened Nate's pod. Mine was sealed shut. They. . . ." Her fingers curled into fists, nails stinging her palms hard enough to draw blood. "She tried to take Shaun. And when Nate wouldn't give him up, the man shot him. He shot my husband and he took my son and he had the _balls_ to look me in the eye before they put me back to sleep."

"I'm so sorry." Ellie put a comforting hand on River's shoulder.

"Do you remember what he looked like? Anything he said to you?"

"I'll never forget him. He had a bald head and a scar over his left eye, taller than me, five-ten, maybe six feet. He was built real strong." She thought of Winlock and Barnes. "Mercenary type. Stony and angry. And he called me 'the back-up.'"

Nick set his pen down and leaned back in his seat. "You didn't hear the name Kellogg at all, did you?"

"I don't think so." She watched Nick and Ellie exchange a heavy look. "Who is he? Do you think he has Shaun?"

"In my experience, things like this are never coincidence. Ellie, what notes do we have on the Kellogg case?"

"The description matches," she rattled off from memory. "Bald head, scarred eye, mercenary work, but no one's ever figured out his employer."

"He bought a house here in town recently. Lived there with a kid, I think, before they disappeared."

"That's right, in the west stands. The boy with him was maybe ten."

"Ten? Ten years old?" River ran her thumb around the gold band of her wedding ring. _The baby years, the terrible two's, watching him learn how to walk and talk and tear apart our home. All those things I was so excited and so terrified about. . . ._ "I don't know how long I slept the second time. It could be him."

"I know you're probably eager, but you've had a long night," Nick said gently. "Let's regroup a little later and we'll head over to look for any clues. You'll think better with a clear head."

River got to her feet, reaching across the table to shake Nick's hand again. "Thanks, Nick."

"Least I could do. Come find me later and we'll head straight over."

"Before you go!" Ellie stopped her at the door, coming over to hand her a 10mm ammo box that was heavy with caps. "I know we never discussed any money when we spoke last, but you saved my boss _and_ my job."

River leaned in to plant a kiss on the young woman's cheek, watching her burn a fetching shade of red in response. "Don't mention it." With a wave, she stepped out into the alley where MacCready and Dogmeat were already waiting. The three of them walked over to the Dugout Inn, lively voices carrying over from the marketplace now that the stores had opened.

"Sorry you had to sit through my sob story."

MacCready glanced over at her, the blue of his eyes pensive for once, maybe even curious; it was hard to tell under the shadow of his hat. Then he shrugged. "I've heard worse."

She laughed. "God damn it. I still can't decide if you're more funny or annoying yet."

"Speak for yourself!" he shot back. "You'd make a better Mistress of Mystery than you think, with all your cryptic shi- crap."

She caught the correction, and the brief tint of pink in his cheeks when he did it. That was interesting . . . and kind of adorable. _Big tough mercenary doesn't like to swear._ "I'm a lawyer. Cryptic is in my blood."

They stepped into the Dugout and River scanned the room. "That one behind the bar is Vadim," MacCready explained, nodding at a tall man with a receding hairline. "He sells the drinks. His brother Yefim handles the rooms."

"All right, I'll be right back then. Oh!" She pulled the ammo box from her pocket and grabbed enough for their rooms out of it before tossing it over to him. "Go get us something to eat, huh? Keep the rest. Your cut."

MacCready frowned, shaking the caps around in the box, gauging the amount from sound. He shook his head before wandering off to the bar without a word. River tried not to watch him go, but her eyes were the second most traitorous part of her, and they lingered appreciatively on the shape of his shoulders moving beneath his coat. _Bad! Bad River!_ She turned away, cheeks flushed. It wasn't MacCready, it was _her_ , sad, lonely, horny River, aching so bad for a dead man that she was ogling her innocent, grumpy mercenary.

The man named Yefim sat up against the side wall, a newspaper open in his hands. He looked up as River came over. "Oh, a customer. Need a room?"

"I need two, actually."

"Sorry, we only have one. Vadim put on a happy hour last night," he told her, his accent pushing the vowels higher against the roof of his mouth, hard around the consonants. "Bobrov's Best is strong, fills up the rooms quick."

She glanced back at MacCready, who was leaning on the bar, catching up with the other Bobrov brother by the sound of their laughter. He gestured with one of his hands, the other resting casually on the counter. She liked his laughter; it was the one part of him he couldn't make sound jaded or sarcastic. "I, uh . . . guess I'll figure something out."

Yefim looked her up and down."You here with MacCready?"

"MacCready's here with me," she corrected him pointedly, handing him a string of ten caps.

He accepted them and turned back to his paper with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Room two is yours. Enjoy."

She skirted past him and let Dogmeat into the room. There was a couch against the far wall, a bed in the corner and an extra chair. Dogmeat padded over to the rug in the middle of the room and made himself comfortable there.

"You're not the one I was worried about, buddy," she laughed, tossing her bag onto the open chair. This shouldn't have felt as weird as it did; after all, she and Preston had slept in the same room before on their travels. One time in a small office, not even half as big as the room she was currently standing in. So why did the fact that it was MacCready make it strange? It wasn't like he reminded her of Nate; the two were practically opposites. It was something about the irreverent way he picked on her, his surly moods that came and went. She felt a little like a normal woman again, not the woman out of time, and that already was worth the caps she'd paid him.

"Only one room, huh?" MacCready stood at the door, a tray of food in his hands. "Don't worry, boss. I won't make you take the couch."

"You're taller," she protested. "I don't mind the couch at all."

" _River_."

She fell silent, trying not to shudder at the sound of his voice around her name. _That_ was definitely concerning.

MacCready set the tray down onto the coffee table with a frustrated sigh. "Look, I just _can't,_ all right? Call it some male pride thing if you want, but I can't let you sleep on the couch. Besides, you paid for the room." He settled onto the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles, the picture of ease.

"A merc with manners, huh? How did I get so lucky?" River sat down on the floor next to Dogmeat and picked at the brahmin steak he'd ordered.

He rolled his eyes at her teasing. "Someone may have tried to teach me, once or twice." He took a swig of beer, Gwinnett Pilsner, and she forced herself to look away from his throat when he swallowed. It definitely wasn't right to imagine the suntanned skin there stained with welts from her teeth. "No telling how much of it stuck, though."

"You should've seen some of the guys I went to college with. Complete animals. You would've put 'em to shame, and they didn't grow up in a damn wasteland." She stripped off pieces of her steak and let Dogmeat lap them up from her hand. "You kinda look like them, though. Right age, at least." She laughed, imagining him in a letterman jacket and cuffed jeans, a pair of high-topped red sneakers on his feet. "A little lean for football. Track, maybe . . . or swimming."

"God, you say the weirdest stuff," he complained. "You sure Hancock didn't send you off with any party favors?"

"No, I'm just . . ." She shrugged. "Thinking in the past, I guess."

"S'that why you like Valentine so much?"

"Maybe. It's nice to know someone who remembers how things used to be, but . . . what's the point? Doesn't change anything. I'm better off getting acquainted with the new, instead of dwelling on the past."

MacCready turned the cap from his beer over and over between his forefinger and thumb, watching it move. "Some things you can't let go of. They just stay with you." He stretched out over the couch, kicking his feet up onto the arm. "Gotta say, it's nice to be on the road again. Goodneighbor was starting to wear out its welcome."

"Why's that?"

He pulled his hat off, shaking his hand through his hair. "Let's put it this way. Can't get much rest when you're sleeping with one eye open. But it was the best place for me to set up shop. Diamond City's goons would have run me out of town and wandering the Commonwealth alone isn't the brightest plan when you're hard up for caps."

River leaned forward onto the coffee table, chin on her arms. It was the most she'd ever heard him speak, and she was eager to get a peek past that scowl he always wore like a piece of armor. "Goodneighbor's a pretty good place for a merc, I would think."

"The folks there tended not to ask too many questions," he agreed. "Which suited my needs. So I made a deal with Hancock and started waiting for the caps to roll in."

"You saving for retirement or just looking to fill your time up?"

"Being a hired gun isn't exactly my idea of a dream job. But right now, I need every cap I can get." He sighed. "Look, I don't usually go around sharing stuff like this, but after all that stuff you said earlier . . . I don't know, I feel like I owe you something back. It's those two assh- those two idiots you saw me talking to at the Third Rail. Winlock and Barnes. They've been hounding me for months and it's been driving off clients."

"I can't _imagine_ why."

He smiled weakly. "No one wants to touch me once they learn I used to run with the Gunners."

"You're hoping to buy 'em off," she guessed and he nodded. "How many caps do you need?"

"I'm not sure. Honestly, that's not even what concerns me the most. I'm wondering how I'm even going to pull it off. They have a small army of Gunners with them all the time. They might decide to just keep the caps and put a bullet in my head for good measure."

River almost flinched. He sounded so casual about it, like he still half expected things to play out that way. The thought rolled through her on a wave of sudden wrath she couldn't quite explain. She fought to keep her tone light. "If you don't have any other plans, you could always stick with me. I make steady money helping the Minutemen - it's not much, but if you tag along, I'll split you fifty-fifty on every cap."

MacCready sat up on his elbows, narrowing his eyes at her. "Why do you care? I thought you were looking for your son."

"I am. But I can't do it alone. And if you ever decide you don't like where I'm headed, you can bail and I promise I won't hold it against you. As for why I care . . ." She smiled at him. "I don't know. I like having you around. I guess it would bum me out if you got killed by two idiots like Winlock and Barnes." She got to her feet, stacking their empty plates back onto the tray, and he watched her with curious, guarded eyes. "Anyways. Just something to think about. I'm gonna go take these back."

She dropped the tray off at the bar with Vadim, lingering to introduce herself. He had the same accent his brother had, but with a roguish mischief in the curl of his voice. By the time she made it back, MacCready had already kicked his boots and coat off, face turned to the back of the couch. She took her armor off as quietly as she could, glancing over to make sure he wasn't looking before pulling her coat and pants off as well. Then she settled into bed, patting the mattress until Dogmeat hopped up next to her. Eventually MacCready's breathing deepened into the languid cadence of sleep. She tracked the slow rise and fall of each breath until she drifted into slumber after him.

* * *

 

When they all met up at Kellogg's later that day, MacCready was still groggy and fuzzy-headed from uneasy sleep, pulling drags of smoke from the cigarette between his lips. He watched River go at the lock with a bobby pin and screwdriver, trying to forget waking up to her in those tiny shorts she slept in. It was more of a woman than he'd seen in years, and River really wasn't just any woman.

"There we go," she said triumphantly, pushing the door open and pulling him from his thoughts. They filed into the small house after her, and River looked to Nick for direction.

"Let's just take a look around," he suggested. "Kellogg must have left something behind."

River drifted toward the desk, skimming through the papers there. Most of them were too ruined to be legible anymore. She stuffed a roll of duct tape from the toolbox on top into her bag, kneeling down to pick up a screwdriver she'd dropped. It was then that she noticed a button hidden beneath the edge of the desk. "I assume secret buttons don't come standard in every Diamond City home?" she called to Nick.

He came over to get a better look. "Not usually. You stand clear, doll. I'll give it a try."

River crossed the room to stand by MacCready, who held his rifle ready. Nick slapped the button with his fist and a section of wall near the door gave way to reveal an extra room. Nick stepped cautiously through, giving it a once over before calling them in. The detective stood over an armchair and side table, which was littered with cigars and empty beer bottles.

River picked up one of the cigars to read the label.

"Gwinnett stout beer . . . forty-four caliber bullets," Nick listed off.

"And cigars," she added. "'San Francisco Sunlights.'"

"Interesting brand. On its own, not too helpful, but with some help. . . ." He turned to look at Dogmeat. "I think it might just be enough."

"You're a genius, Nick," River breathed, marching quickly outside. She knelt down on the catwalk and held one of the cigars out to Dogmeat, letting him sniff it for a few moments. He then sniffed around on the ground before taking off back for the stairs. "Dogmeat, wait! Shit! Thanks for the help, Nick!" She threw her arms around the synth detective in a quick hug, MacCready running ahead to make sure Dogmeat didn't lose them.

"Be careful!" he called after her. "And give 'em hell!"

She caught up to Dogmeat and MacCready at the bottom of the stairs, the hound shifting impatiently back and forth. He led them briskly out of town, through the streets of Boston, pausing to sniff the ground every now and then. They traveled a good distance from the city before Dogmeat led them to a stump near a small lake, an upturned crate serving as a table next to it.

River leaned against the stump, trying to catch her breath. She heard MacCready give an annoyed wheeze somewhere behind her. "What's . . . what's over here, buddy?" She leaned down and picked up a cigar from the ashtray on the crate. "San Francisco Sunlights. Good job, boy."

Clever as he was, Dogmeat seemed to sense their fatigue. He slowed to a more manageable pace to let them catch their breath, while River tried to calm the knot of fear and dread in her stomach.

MacCready watched her nibble at her lower lip, her jaw clenching anxiously. He cleared his throat. "You ever hear the joke about the super mutant?"

River blinked at him in surprise, before she realized he was trying to cheer her up and smiled. "No. How does it go?"

"There was a super mutant who wondered why a rock kept getting bigger." He grinned. "Then it hit him."

She laughed so hard Dogmeat looked back at them in concern. "Good one, MacCready." She elbowed him in the side, smiling. "I've got some good ones, too. After we kill the bastard and get my son back, remind me to tell you some."

Dogmeat led them to a few more places where Kellogg had stopped, his presence evident in a set of blood-stained rags or more cigars and beer bottles. They traveled over bridges and train tracks, into a rundown building and down a set of concrete stairs. They found another resting place, with an empty stout bottle.

"Gwinnett stout . . . another one of his creature comforts."

"Guy like him probably needs a lot of those," MacCready remarked beside her.

She set the bottle back down with an absent nod. "Not for long. Let's keep going."

Eventually they broke out into more city streets, more open than downtown Boston. MacCready warned her in a low voice to keep her eyes open and they moved a little quieter, grateful for the oncoming nightfall darkening the sky above them. Dogmeat trotted confidently through the town until he led them straight to an old military building. He walked up to the boarded entrance and barked at it, turning to pant at River and MacCready as they caught up.

"Is this it? Is this the place?" She knelt down beside him and pulled a can of water out, pouring some into her hand so he could drink from it. "What would I do without you, huh?" Once he was done drinking, she kissed his head and got to her feet again. "I think I saw a gas station nearby. You want to rest there for a little bit?"

MacCready nodded, seemed like his thoughts were a million miles away when he fell into step behind her. The gas station was cold and dark, but safe enough to take shelter in for a while. They huddled up in the far corner of the garage around a small fire. MacCready leaned back against the wall, rifle resting on his shoulder. He offered her a cigarette, but she shook her head.

"Haven't smoked since college," she explained. "I have a bit of an oral fixation. If I start again, I probably won't be able to stop." She thought of Kellogg's face, the cold curiosity in his eyes after she'd just watched him kill Nate. "Might end up changing my mind on that one after tonight, I guess."

"I'm sorry," he offered up unexpectedly. She looked over at him and, for once, he was staring right back at her, something like determination in the blue of his irises. "I'm sorry about your husband . . . and your son."

River rested her head back against the cold wall. "Me, too. I . . . thanks. For saying that."

"I thought about your offer, too," he went on. "If we don't end up dying in there, I'd like to take you up on it."

She smiled. "I'm glad. I meant it when I said I like having you around. And there's no denying you're a hell of a shot."

"That goes without saying," he said, the arrogance returning in his smirk.

"For what it's worth, I'm really glad I've got you with me. I'm jealous of you, honestly."

That drew a laugh out of him, that carefree, boyish sound that made her feel like things weren't so fucked-up after all. "I can't wait to hear this one."

"I am!" she insisted. "I'm jealous of the way you can handle everything out here. The first night we met, you pulled a bullet out of me like you've done it a thousand times. You shot some guy the other day and his _head exploded_. And then you laughed and asked if I saw that. And I did. And it was disgusting."

His laughter continued. To his credit, he tried to stifle it. "Sorry."

"But that's exactly what I admire so much, that it doesn't seem to get to you. I still have nightmares, trouble eating. I feel like I'll never get used to it."

"You're tough. You'll pull through." He sounded so certain it set a little of her fear at ease. "I knew a vault dweller once. She had no idea what it was like above the surface until the day they kicked her out. She was nineteen, practically still a kid, and she had to pick it all up by herself, like you did. Now she's a damn force of nature."

River watched him exhale a puff of smoke, cigarette between two of his fingers. "Fuck it," she sighed in defeat, stealing it from his hand and taking a long, greedy drag. The familiar weight of smoke in her lungs was like a physical relief. She exhaled with a glare when he laughed at her, shaking another one out of his pack. "Don't tell Shaun, once we get him back."

"I won't, promise." He paused to light his cigarette. "You shouldn't worry. You're gonna go in there and make that guy pay for killing your husband. And then we're gonna get your son back."

She laughed, trying not to sound skeptical. "You make it all sound so easy."

"Well, you did hire the best merc in the Commonwealth."

_I guess I did, didn't I?_

They ate some old pasta River managed to cook up over the fire, Dogmeat gobbling up the leftovers while they shared a couple more of MacCready's cigarettes. Night had well and truly fallen when they reemerged from the gas station, feeling rejuvenated.

"I think you've done enough for now, boy," River said, patting him lovingly on the head.

"He should head home, get some rest while we pay Kellogg a little visit," MacCready piped up, and damn if the sight of him, rifle in hand, that devilish smirk on his face, didn't make her feel dangerous, like Kellogg had no idea who he'd fucked with.

"You heard 'im, boy. Run on home to Sanctuary. I'll be there soon." She rubbed behind Dogmeat's ears, where he liked. "Be safe."

He licked her once, chin to forehead, then trotted dutifully off into the dark wilderness.

River gave herself one last once-over, checked the blade at her hip, made sure her pistol and combat shotgun were both fully loaded. Her pockets bulged with the comforting weight of grenades, ready to come to her aid.

"How do I look?" she asked MacCready, doing a quick turn for him.

"Like trouble," he replied, so quickly she wondered if he hadn't been thinking it for days. He laughed, and she was grateful the darkness hid the light blush that burned in her cheeks. "Like Kellogg's worst nightmare."

She couldn't help a smile at that one. "I'm about to be."


	8. Unfinished Business

"Men should be either treated generously or destroyed, because they can avenge themselves of lighter injuries, of more serious ones they cannot; therefore the injury done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge.  
― _The Prince,_ 1513

Kellogg really should have brushed up on his Machiavelli.

* * *

It was through the deepest darkness of a cold Commonwealth night that River started climbing the ramps to the roof of Fort Hagen. She crept over the rooftop, searching for a way in. The sudden beeping of a turret sounded somewhere to her right, and MacCready yanked her back to safety behind an old air conditioning unit.

"Thanks," she cried over the barrage of bullets landing in the concrete around them. Then she watched in admiration as he picked off the turrets with remarkable precision, one by one. "You have to teach me how to do that someday."

MacCready rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the smile from his face. "I'm not really the teaching type."

River smirked, a cruel twist to her lips so sinful and devious it would've given him a run for his money. "You just have to find the right student."

With the rooftop now clear of turrets, they kept searching for a way into the fort until River tripped over a metal hatch at the eastern side of the building. MacCready caught her by the arm before she could go toppling over the side.

"Here." He passed her his rifle and took hold of one of the doors. With a grunt of effort, he pried the rusted metal open. River watched the tensing muscles in his forearms, feeling her throat go dry. MacCready was slowly, unwittingly reminding her of all the things she loved and missed about a man. It made the wound of her husband's absence throb painfully in her chest.

River handed him his gun back before climbing quietly down a ladder into the darkness below, testing each rung before she put her weight on it. MacCready peered down from above, his head haloed by moonlight streaming down above him. "It seems sturdy enough, but go slow," she called quietly up to him. She swallowed the gum she'd been chewing when he leapt down beside her, bypassing the ladder entirely, his boots stirring up dust around them. He laughed at the shock on her face, and she slapped his shoulder in disgust. "You scared the shit out of me," she hissed. He tried to look sheepish, but couldn't hide the smirk on his face. She wished it didn't look so good on him.

They were standing in a closet off of a hallway. River chanced a look down either side, taking in a cluster of small offices, the walls separating them falling apart or no longer standing at all in some cases. The sound of footsteps, measured and light, made her slip back into the closet. In such a small space, MacCready was mere inches from her. She could practically count his eyelashes, he was so close, could smell cigarette smoke and leather on him and something else, something masculine and familiar she couldn't quite place. If they weren't charging into the secret lair of a villainous mercenary - _boy, that comic book comparison gets more accurate every day_ \- she might've lingered there to enjoy it a little bit longer.

"Well?" he prompted her expectantly. "What did you see?"

"Nothing, but someone's there. Not Kellogg, they sound too light."

"Synths, maybe?"

"Only one way to find out." She dropped to a crouch and moved out into the hallway, pistol at the ready. When she reached the end of the hallway, she stopped to listen. Two sets of footsteps were moving around the adjacent room. She set one of the mines in her pocket down just behind the doorway. Then she slammed her fist against the wall and backed up, quickly, nearly tripping over MacCready right behind her. The synths burst into the hallway and set off the mine, which killed both of them instantly.

"Damn," MacCready muttered in the ringing silence that followed.

River looted the fusion cells from their weapons and stuffed them into her pockets. There was another turret in the next room, which MacCready dispatched with ease. They reloaded their weapons and continued downward, clearing more synths as they went.

"Upper limb actuator damaged," one of them declared in a flanging monotone as it was devoured by the flames of River's molotov.

"Hate it when that happens," MacCready whispered behind her.

She tried not to laugh - it really wasn't the place for it - but he was getting a feel for her sense of humor. It seemed like he liked to make her laugh, if only to prove that he could, even in the most deadly or terrifying of situations. It was an arrogant and dangerously appealing trait, one that did not bode well for a widow's lonely heart.

They fought their way through several different rooms, spanning two or three more floors; it was difficult to keep track of how far they'd made it through all the chaos. River could feel the sting of laser burns on the parts of her body not protected by armor, ears ringing from gunfire and explosions. By the time they reached the lower level, evident in the concrete walls and security gates around them, she was back in the rhythm of battle. Her shots were growing more accurate, reducing every other synth to a pile of glowing red ash, earning her a few triumphant shouts from MacCready behind her.

River spotted a supply cache, locked away behind a metal gate. The crates she could see inside with medical insignias on the lid were calling her name, but the gate had no lock to spring.

"Over here, boss," MacCready called, patting the top of a nearby terminal with his hand.

She dropped down into the desk chair and started typing away, scanning the green numbers and words for a password.

"You're pretty good with those things," he remarked, hopping up onto the desk beside the monitor. "I always thought they were a waste of time."

"I used to spend all day behind one of these. It's second nature by now."

"Hmph." He pulled the leg of his pants up to reveal a nasty burn on his shin. He poked along the edges of it, wincing in pain.

"Jesus!" she gasped, temporarily distracted by his wound.

"Don't sweat it." He plunged a stimpak into his skin and already it was beginning to heal up. "Good as new."

River rolled her eyes before turning back to her work on the terminal. "Men," she muttered under her breath. "Aaaaand _there_ we go." There was a low buzz and then the security gate swung open.

"Nice job," MacCready praised her with a grin. "But can you do it blindfolded?"

She laughed enigmatically, loved watching the smile falter on his face. "You'd be surprised what I can do blindfolded, MacCready." She went into the supply room to loot what she could, but not before catching the ruddy flush that colored his cheeks. Once her pockets were overflowing with stimpaks and chems, she turned to the elevator at the far end of the room. It rumbled to life when she pressed the call button.

"Hold on, you're lookin' a little banged up." MacCready pointed at the red welts from laser weapons littering her arms and legs. "You can't face him like that. C'mere." He patted a chest of drawers and she sat down obediently on top of it. His hands were sure around the stimpaks as he applied them to her wounds, until she let out a sigh of relief that made him pause, blue eyes glancing up to meet hers.

River swallowed, watching his gaze drop to her throat. "Thank you. Really."

He cleared his throat and turned away. "It's nothing. Come on, you've got a son to rescue, right?"

They stepped into the small elevator and River pushed the down button. She jumped a little when it jerked into motion again, but steadied herself against the wall. Finally it reached the bottom of the fort and the doors opened with a pleasant-sounding _ding_. They walked out into a long maintenance hallway, deep in the bowels of the building. MacCready scoped ahead with his rifle and picked off a few synths down at the other end. "Looks pretty clear now."

When they reached the end of the hallway and turned around the corner, a voice broke out over the PA system, rough and sinister like storm clouds, so familiar it sent chills down River's spine.

"If it isn't my old friend the TV dinner. Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler."

"Bastard," River hissed when she found her voice again, clutching her gun with white knuckles. "Arrogant, under-handed, family-wrecking _bastard_."

"Save your breath," MacCready advised quietly. "So you can tell him to his face."

She stormed forward toward a security gate and threw it open. A ball of blue light flashed to life right above them, and he barely pulled her out of the way before energy burst out from a tesla coil like strikes of lightning.

River leaned against him for support, a hand pressed to her racing heart. "That was close." They waited until the trap had run itself out before proceeding down the stairs. The whir of a turret was waiting for them around the corner, but River took it out with a few quick shots from her pistol.

"I get it," Kellogg droned on, his voice echoing ominously around them. "That beautiful house - white picket fence, car in the driveway, Mr. Handy makin' you flapjacks for breakfast every morning. You had a pretty sweet deal going. But this isn't the answer you're looking for."

At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors, old metal tarnished with rust. She tugged at the knob, but couldn't pull it free until MacCready added his strength to the effort. There were even more stairs leading downward, the hallways growing more cluttered and dilapidated the further they got. He cleared out the synths at the end of yet another long hallway easily enough, clearing up the pathway for them to proceed.

They passed a mess hall on one side of the hall, a med bay and sleeping quarters on the other. She imagined Nate spent most of his time in a place like this when he'd been away. Thanks to Kellogg, she'd never get a chance to ask him. Never get to see the smile on his face when they found their son. Never feel his hands on her aching body again.

She put her pistol away in favor of her shotgun. Kellogg didn't deserve to be in one piece anymore.

Deeper down into the fort they went, until she couldn't be entirely sure how far underground they were.

"You're brave, I'll give you that, and determined as all hell." Kellogg had the nerve to praise her. "But you have no idea how deep this rabbit hole goes, little Alice."

They mowed down yet more synths, leaving a wake of circuits and shattered chassis behind them.

"It's not too late. If you turn around now, I promise I won't come after you. We'll part ways like nothing ever happened."

"He wishes," MacCready growled, sounding angrier than she'd ever heard him. "That's more than he deserves."

Eventually they made their way to a waiting room, complete with receptionist's terminal and couch, faded magazines spread out over the coffee table. "We're close," she warned him, pushing open a door between two tattered American flags. The next room must have been where Kellogg slept. There was a surprisingly neat-looking bed amongst the disarray, medical supplies scattered about. River scooped up all the stimpaks she could find, trying not to crumble under a wave of dread.

"You can do this," MacCready assured her. She turned to take in his determined expression, the hard line of his mouth. "You're a mother. He has your _kid_. It's your job to wipe him off the face of the planet, and you're gonna do it. Right?"

She nodded. "Right."

"You made it," Kellogg congratulated her. "My synths are standing down. Let's have a chat. This is long overdue."

River led the way down the hall and around a corner to one last security gate. She palmed her shotgun, glancing over to see MacCready nod in encouragement, before opening the door and stepping through into a large, open room.

Kellogg came out from behind a cubicle with his hands in the air as lights flickered on around them, illuminating the synths all around the room. The sight of his scarred face, twisted into a smirk, sent a dark thrill of bloodlust through her. "And here you are, clean and pretty as the day you went in. Damn if you didn't thaw out somethin' nice." He chuckled appreciatively, raking his eyes up and down her body. "I admit, I didn't think you'd be this much trouble, some pre-war little housewife like you, but you're tougher than I thought. Wasteland looks good on you," he added as an afterthought. "Well, you came a long way. Let's hear it."

River lifted her shotgun and blasted the nearest synth in the face, the ruined metal of its corpse falling to the floor with a loud crash. The other synths sprung to action, but Kellogg stopped them with a wave of his hand, a curious smile on his face.

"Where is my son?" she demanded, her voice tight with the rage and fear she was barely keeping control of. "Where's Shaun?"

"Look, I'm just a puppet in all of this, like you. My stage is a little bigger, that's all."

"My patience is wearing thin, Kellogg," she warned him icily. "Where is he?"

Kellogg laughed, a deep belly laugh that shook his body. "He's not here, sweetheart. But he's doing real well. A bit older than you expected, maybe, but don't worry. You'll die knowing he's safe and happy with the people pulling all the strings."

"The Institute."

"Smart girl," Kellogg approved. "In another life, you probably would have been a good mother. But here . . . in this terrible reality? You just don't get that chance."

"I'm guessing you won't tell me how to get there," River said numbly. "Even though you definitely fucking owe me one."

"You've made it this far," the mercenary replied with a shrug. "Guess I wanna see how the rest of it plays out."

"After you took my family from me?" River shook her head. "You won't get the chance."

MacCready took the verbal cue and sniped one of the synths closer to her while she backed away, getting one shotgun blast off in Kellogg's direction before he vanished into the telltale glimmer of stealth technology. She retreated behind a nearby desk for cover and reached for the grenades in her pockets; if Shaun wasn't here, she was going to raze this building to fucking ash. She pulled the pins out in quick succession, lobbing each one over the top of the nearest cubicle toward Kellogg and his synths. One of the synths came up behind MacCready and took hold of his arm, swinging a baton down onto the back of his head. He fell away, the sleeve of his duster ripping loose.

"MacCready!" River shot down the synth and kicked its body away, kneeling down over him.

"I'm fine, get Kellogg," he grunted, struggling back to his feet.

She pulled an inhaler of jet from her pocket and took a deep hit, blinking past the sensation of everything slowing down around her. She turned around the corner of the cubicle and ran for the other corner of the room, slamming one synth in the face with the butt of her shotgun and shooting another into pieces. Her eyes scanned for any motion, trying to pin Kellogg down.

A strong arm looped around her neck, yanking her head roughly back. She struggled, panicking as her lungs burned for air. Her hand closed around the handle of her blade, and with a glimmer of hope she plunged it back, deep into the flesh of Kellogg's side. He released her with a roar of pain. She brought her shotgun up and fired again at the first sight of shimmering air, hitting true if the grunt he made was any indication.

There was the loud crack of a .44 going off, and white-hot agony set off like a wildfire from her side. She crumpled to her knees, her vision going blurry, and she realized past the sound of rushing blood that she was keening in pain.

"River!" MacCready made a mad dash toward them and lunged at the air above her, tackling Kellogg to the ground. He brought the butt of his rifle down over and over with the sound of cracking bones until Kellogg abruptly reappeared, the front of his coat bloodied and torn. The handle of River's blade jutted out of his side and MacCready had shattered his jaw.

"MacCready," she croaked, sitting up. She could feel blood gushing from the wound at her side, but she pressed a hand to it and gritted her teeth past the pain, trying to ignore the way it distorted her vision.

"Right," he said and fell back off of Kellogg's limp form. She stood over the mercenary, waited until he turned to look up at her before she put a boot to his ribs and pressed down, hard. He groaned in agony, blood spilling over the side of his mouth.

"You could've just taken Shaun," she hissed coldly, stepping down harder on his injuries. He let loose a wounded howl, the noise wet with blood. "You didn't have to kill my husband. Didn't have to take away the last beautiful part left in my life." Tears streaming down her face, she lifted her shotgun. "You practically put the gun in my hand."

She shot him in the head, watched it fracture into a spray of blood and brain matter that stained her armor. The ringing from all the gunfire slowly faded from her ears, leaving behind only the pain from her wounds and an aching, shattering emptiness.

"Hey, hey, easy there." MacCready caught her when she swayed, guiding her gingerly toward Kellogg's desk. "Where did he get you?"

"My side," she said through her teeth, jerking her head down at the hand on her wound. "I-I think the bullet might still be inside."

"Fuck."

Her eyes widened in shock at the curse on his voice, but he eased her onto her back before she could comment on it. "Stay here, and don't move."

She closed her eyes, trying to focus past the agony that scattered her racing thoughts. She was getting accustomed to this, pushing past new pains, coping with physical and emotional anguish to survive. It was easier with the man at her side, pulling medical supplies out of her bag, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. The first thing he did was give her med-x, a lot of it, and she could've kissed him out of gratitude. She briefly considered doing it just for fun when the meds kicked in and dulled the pain.

"Let me take a look," he coaxed her gently, pulling her hand away from the wound. He hissed under his breath when he got a good look at it. "Doesn't look like he hit anything serious, but I'm not a doctor." Panic was beginning to edge into his voice.

"It's okay," she breathed unevenly. "Just get . . . get the bullet out, yeah?"

He pulled a pair of tweezers from their medical supplies and leaned over her. The flare of pain when the tweezers slid into her open wound made her body tense up. "Easy," he told her, his voice wavering when she whimpered pathetically in response. "I know it hurts, I know. You're - you're doing great." She closed a hand around his shoulder, squeezing hard until her nails dug into his skin, but he kept speaking in that low, calming voice. "I can see the bullet. You're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna make it."

"I'm gonna lose my goddamn mind," she managed out through her clenched teeth.

MacCready laughed, the sound choked with relief as he pulled the bullet out of her body. "Maybe. But it'll be a cold day in hell before I let that guy take you out."

"Thank you." She clutched at his coat. "MacCready. Thank you. You -"

"Saved your life, I know," he answered for her, some of the arrogance returning now that he'd brought her back from the brink of bleeding out. He used a gratuitous number of stimpaks on her but after such a battle, River couldn't bring herself to care about their supplies.

"How are you doing?" she asked him past the heavy daze of med-x. "That synth really got you good."

"Mild concussion. I used a stimpak, I should be good." He inspected his work to make sure the skin was completely healed over before letting her try to sit up. With a grimace and enough swear words to make a sailor blush, River was back on her feet. MacCready was packing up all of the medical supplies when she grabbed him into a tight hug.

"Thank you," she said again, hiding her tears against his shoulder. His arms wrapped uncertainly around her. "I couldn't have done any of this without you. Wouldn't be _alive_ right now without you."

"We're gonna find him," he promised simply, one of his hands rubbing comfortingly at the small of her back. Then he pulled loose from her arms and slung his bag over his shoulder. River walked gingerly over to Kellogg's corpse, searching numbly through his pockets. "Holy shit, come look at this," she called over to MacCready. He came closer to see the ruined mess that was left of Kellogg's brain, where she was pointing. Amongst the shattered remains of bone and brain matter, there were bits of metal and circuits - not much, not enough to think the man had been a synth, but he definitely hadn't been all human. "No wonder he was so tough," she murmured, reaching in to pull out one of the pieces.

"Not that tough, apparently," he replied, sounding proud. "If some 'pre-war little housewife' could take him out."

River smiled faintly. "I guess you're right." She slipped the piece of brain and metal into an empty ammo box and dropped it in her bag.

"'Course I am."

There was an elevator at the far end of the room and she pressed the button to call for it, feeling too heavy for her own legs. "I've never avenged someone before," she confessed while they waited, looking to MacCready for input.

"It generally feels better when you don't get shot doing it," he joked. "But you did good. That was some solid, respectable revenge right there." He touched her shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry Shaun wasn't here."

"It's all right. For so long I had nothing, no idea of where he might be or if he was even still alive. But now at least I know he's somewhere safe."

MacCready nodded grimly. The elevator arrived with another _ding_ and they boarded it without another word. Day had already broken sometime during their firefight, and they stepped out into the crisp air of a Commonwealth morning. She squinted against the bright sun, shielding her eyes from the light with her hand. "Oh, my god," she gasped. "What is that?!"

There was no need for her to clarify - the giant airship took up nearly half the sky on its slow journey over the Commonwealth. The polished steel glinted ominously in the early morning sunlight, the sight reminding River of so many military advertisements during the war, trying to entice soldiers with the promise of technologically advanced weaponry. Vertibirds were docked in a bay at the bottom of the airship, and many more hovered protectively around it. River pushed MacCready back against the building to escape being noticed, and they watched in wordless awe as the aircraft passed overhead.

River opened her mouth to ask if he knew what it was, but a booming announcement from the airship cut her off:

_People of the Commonwealth, do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are the Brotherhood of Steel._

"Son of a. . . ." he trailed off in disbelief. "It's the goddamn Brotherhood of Steel. What the hell are they doing here?"

"You've heard of them?"

"Yeah, and the stranglehold they have on the Capital Wasteland." He shook his head, smiling reluctantly. "Gotta hand it to 'em, though, they know how to make an entrance. Come on, let's get down from this damn roof before something else goes wrong." He slung one of her arms over his shoulders to help support her weight on their way back down the ramps, not liking the wheeze in her breath. They retreated to the gas station to recover.

MacCready shrugged out of his coat and set it down on the cold ground, helping her gingerly down onto it. "I can't believe you're still awake. I gave you enough med-x to put down a brahmin."

"I'm not far," she slurred back, curling up on his jacket. She pressed her nose to the material, inhaled that scent she'd gotten just a hint of earlier. To her surprise, MacCready swept her hair back out of her face, a quick brush of his fingers, gentle as a breath. Then he pulled his hand away just as quickly, as if only just realizing what he was doing.

"MacCready?" she asked after a beat, eyes closed, on the cusp of sleep.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about your sleeve."

 _There it is_ , she thought triumphantly, the sound of his laughter, that roll of fricatives that felt like flying home. "Go to sleep, River."

And fall asleep she did, into a deep, dreamless slumber that eased her mind so her body and her soul could start to heal. Killing Kellogg was only the first step in what would surely be a long journey to get Shaun back, but she'd already gotten farther than she ever thought she would. MacCready seemed to believe in her, seemed to think she actually had a shot at getting her son back despite everything working against her. She'd been trying and failing to convince herself she could do it, yet he seemed to have the utmost confidence in her. His faith was rejuvenating, and after killing Kellogg, she was actually starting to believe it, too.

With MacCready at her side, the Institute didn't stand a chance.


	9. A Chill and A Fever

MacCready wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when River said "Sanctuary." Big, pristine white walls, maybe, or something like Oasis, the lush, green grass where he'd promised himself to Lucy in a suit that was slightly too big and itched at his neck. The rundown street of houses on the other side of a rickety bridge seemed almost disappointing after such grand comparisons, but he didn't miss the way River relaxed when they stepped foot past the gate (didn't miss any of her reactions, honestly; he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her). Like a woman coming home, stepping out from under the weight of the world. He understood that well enough, after what she'd been through. What he'd been through, too, come to think of it, and really he didn't want to, but lately all the uncanny ways in which they were similar kept plucking at the back of his mind.

They'd only been travelling together about a week, yet despite his best efforts, MacCready was _learning_ her, the way a man learns a woman when he wants her bad, and he tried to keep telling himself that wasn't what was happening in this particular situation, but a man could only ignore his dick for so long. His eyes lingered on her seemingly of their own accord at this point, watching her every motion like maybe if he stared at her enough, he'd get over it. _Yeah fucking right._ Acknowledgement of the issue was hardly the problem anyways; it was the thought of dealing with it that made his stomach twist with dread.

When it came down to it, it wasn't _fair_ how good she looked, all soft hair and smooth skin and perfect, perfect teeth. It had to be the worst cosmic joke ever fucking written that River was the sole survivor of Vault 111. She was that unreal kind of beautiful, the kind you're not sure is even possible until you see it - a pressed flower, preserved in perfect condition - and so pre-war it wasn't even funny. It was in her smile, and her bad jokes, and the clumsy way she held a rifle like she was still half-scared it was going to turn around and bite her. He'd honestly never met a woman like her before, and he knew now it was because they'd all burned to ash two hundred years ago; the only ones that survived looked like Daisy now. River was the last of her kind, and she was driving him fucking insane.

He didn't even want to touch the other issue - the whole my-wife-is-dead-and-I-haven't-been-dealing-with-it-properly issue - but that had been slowly wreaking havoc in his head for so long he hardly noticed it anymore. It was almost ironic, that his new boss would be the perfect person to talk these feelings out with, if not for the pathetic way he couldn't keep her or that infuriatingly delicious laugh of hers out of his mind.

"Listen, I've been thinking," River said, pulling him from his thoughts, which was probably for the best. They were starting to stray into indecent territory again and he couldn't bear to walk another mile with an erection; he was gonna chafe something at this rate.

"That's never a good thing."

She smiled; his heart turned over. "You know, you're probably right about Winlock and Barnes. Even if we bought them off, they might still come after you."

 _When exactly did this become a we situation?_ "So what's your point?"

She tapped one of her canines with the tip of her tongue, squinting off toward the sun. "Maybe I'm feeling a little grateful after you helped me avenge my husband. Maybe I lost a little bit too much blood and it's making me loopy. Either way, it seems pretty clear to me there's only one real solution to your problem."

 _Jesus, she's so fucking dramatic._ He waited, eyes narrowing pointedly.

River smirked, satisfied she'd gotten him to play along, if only for a moment. "I say we bring the fight to them and take 'em out. If we roll up with everything we've got, they'll never know what hit them."

He searched the amusement and curiosity in her expression, looking for something he couldn't quite find. "You really mean it, don't you?"

Her voice fit easily into the beginning of a cadence he'd heard before. "I mean every -"

"Every word you say, yeah, that's what you keep saying." The words came out sharper than he'd intended, some of his frustration creeping out. "I just don't believe you."

"Fair enough. Maybe if we pull this off, I can change your mind."

"They're holed up with about twenty men at the Mass Pike Interchange. It's not gonna be a walk in the park."

She smiled at him, that smug, tempting curve of her lips he'd thought about kissing off of her face too many times already. _If you're trying to scare me_ , that smile said, _you'll have to try harder than that._ "I have the perfect outfit for it," she said finally, as if that settled the matter somehow. Her eyes tracked the approach of yet another man in that stupid Minuteman hat and she cursed under her breath. "By the way, I'm kind of the General. It's no big deal, act casual about it."

"Wha-?"

"General," the Minuteman greeted River in a rounded, deep baritone that would probably take MacCready a few more hard-lived decades to achieve, if he ever could. "You made it back. When Dogmeat showed up without you, I started to worry."

"Sorry for the trouble." She flashed the Minuteman one of her dazzling smiles. MacCready had seen enough of them by now to recognize when she was up to something. Her hand curled around his shoulder, pushing him pointedly forward. "Preston, this is MacCready. I hired him in Goodneighbor, and I trust him. I'm vouching for him. As General," she added, just a beat too late to be natural, but there was no questioning the authoritative ring to her voice.

The man named Preston dipped his head in acknowledgement. "All right, then," he said evenly, the hint of a smile on his face. MacCready wondered if there was some joke he was missing out on, or if River just had that effect on men. _Little of column A, little of column B_. "Welcome to Sanctuary Hills."

MacCready nodded; decided playing nice was better than hearing about it later. "Yeah, thanks."

River beamed, like she was mighty pleased with her work. "Great. I'm gonna show MacCready around, maybe clean up a little."

"Come find me later," Preston agreed with one last tip of his hat before he walked off.

She led him to a carport halfway down the street, filled with workbenches and toolkits and in the back amongst all the chaos, a shining suit of power armor. MacCready snorted with laughter. _I have the perfect outfit._ "Very funny."

"I kind of thought so," she agreed, running a hand lovingly down the chest piece. She shot him a sidelong glance. "So what do you think? I charge ahead in this thing, you stick back and do what you do best."

MacCready glared at the hulking metal suit, caught between admiration for a good idea and a wounded pride at the thought of sending a tiny, pre-war woman ahead into the fray while he picked them off safely from the sidelines.

"Don't give me that look," River scolded him with a scowl of her own. "I'm practically indestructible in this thing and you are far more formidable from a distance. If you want to take Winlock and Barnes down, this is the way to do it."

"I don't remember this being your problem in the first place." It was a defense mechanism, lashing out like that, a pretty stupid one when the solution to some of his potentially lethal troubles was offering itself up to him on a platter - a curvy, white-haired platter that smelled like vanilla and smoke - but he'd never claimed to be an intelligent man.

She shrugged, refusing to engage; saw right through his bullshit, in other words, and he found himself wondering not for the first time exactly what a lawyer _was_. He was still too stubborn to ask. "I'm gonna let this wound heal up another day. Then I'm leaving for the interchange, whether you're coming with me or not. I'll be sure to say hello to Winlock and Barnes for you." A thin smile touched her face, one of her crueler ones; shit was about to get very real for the Gunners at the interchange. "Or I guess it would be goodbye, wouldn't it?"

 _All right, that line was pretty good._ He watched her walk away, something she liked to do when she was being dramatic like this, leaving him all alone with the growing desire to chase after her. He got the feeling she knew exactly what she was doing - she was too smart and too perceptive not to. So what the fuck was she playing at, messing around with his head? He wished he wasn't too obsessed to be angry, but that ship had sailed a few days ago, when he'd woken up to see far too much of her body, lean and tan from being out in the wasteland so long, and wondered in a half-awake daze if he could still taste the sun on her skin.

Leah had lectured him about this - had lectured him about _everything_ by now, he imagined - and he could practically hear the conversation in his head.

_Maybe it's time you moved on. You're only twenty. It breaks my heart to see you alone._

_I'm not alone. I have Duncan._

_You know what I mean._

He'd struggled for the right words to make his adoptive mother understand that he was broken now and expected to be for the rest of his life. Lucy had been his wife and his best friend, the only part of him he felt he could be proud of until Duncan came along. In the end, he went with the low blow, and the look on her face would've broken his heart if it wasn't already shattered to pieces.

_If it was Charon, could you ever move on?_

But she left him alone after that, and it was worth it to have that misery all to himself. It felt like what he deserved. Leah and Charon had each other; he had a sick son and the sensation of drowning, over and over every night when he fell asleep.

And now his head was so full of River he thought he might never surface again.

* * *

River walked down the hallway of her house, trying to see it as a home still, and not a crypt; but without her husband and her son, the walls seemed to yawn open endlessly around her, empty, shattered, broken. How many times had she come down this very hallway to find Nate in the kitchen, coffee brewing, that smile lighting up his face? She wished she'd known that day would be the last - she would've cherished it.

She pushed herself up onto the counter where she'd sat a thousand times, watching him read the paper or sip his coffee. Some mornings she'd been able to coax him over and he'd fill the space between her legs, wrap her up in his arms, stain her shoulders with his teeth, where no one in the office would see. She'd always felt so tiny next to him, like a little porcelain doll, safe and cherished and utterly loved, even when he had her pulse point between his teeth and her hair gripped tight in his fist.

It was uncanny, how heated Nate could still get her, even when the world had gone to shit and he was buried six feet under. She peeled the plates of her armor off and tossed them aside, freeing her flushed skin from the stifling leather and metal. She briefly considered touching herself, just to take some of the edge off, but the thought alone of struggling toward a half-assed, underwhelming orgasm was already depressing her.

The mechanical whir of a Mr. Handy sounded behind her, and she turned to watch Codsworth come floating in through the front door. "Mum! I'm so glad to see you're back."

"Hey, Codsworth. I missed you."

"And I you, Mum. Are you feeling hungry? I can try to whip something up for you, if you like."

"That'd be great, honey, thanks. Would you make enough for two?"

"A dinner guest? I'd be happy to!" He went to work, hovering around the kitchen, humming contentedly to himself.

River padded down the hallway for a change of clothes. She didn't have much in the way of a wardrobe anymore, but she'd managed to scavenge a few decent pieces. Her favorite was a pair of jeans, denim soft and mostly intact, so tight she had to wiggle her way into them, but she felt fucking mean when she had them on and tonight she felt like she deserved that. She slipped into a cotton T-shirt and threw a leather coat over her shoulders. In a lockbox at the back of her closet, she'd stashed a back-up collection of all her favorite make-up. _In case of nuclear annihilation or any tragic discontinuations_ , she'd explained jokingly at _the look_ Nate had given her, and just thinking about it now made her choke up. But the first time she'd found the box and the treasures she'd saved for herself inside, it had brought her to literal tears of joy. There wasn't much she had left to enjoy anymore - if it ended up being old make-up and a snarky sniper, she'd take what she could get.

She sat down at her vanity, inspecting her reflection, distorted by deep cracks in the mirror. Her skin was starting to bronze and freckle from so much sun, a flush developing on her cheeks. The tan made her feel a little better about her hair at least; she'd felt like a damn ghost the first time she'd caught her reflection, white-haired and pale from spending too much time indoors before the bombs fell.

It was silly, maybe, but going through the motions of her old morning routine soothed a little of the ache in her heart. She'd lost so much, but she still had this. This used to be such a big part of her day; it made her feel powerful and prepared. Nate would watch her with interest from the bed, resting that beautiful jaw on the palm of his hand.

_You don't need that stuff._

_I don't wear it 'cause I think I need it._

River stared wide-eyed at her reflection once she was done. This woman she almost recognized. It was the first time she'd felt like herself, her _real_ self, River the lawyer, not River the General or River the husband-avenger. She smiled, loved how it looked in the deep plum color of her lipstick. _Like trouble_ , MacCready had said, his voice half fear and half admiration. She rather liked that combination on him.

"You're looking absolutely lovely, Mum," Codsworth complimented her when she reemerged in the kitchen. He was frying something up on the stove, red meat by the smell of it, and her stomach gave a sharp pang of hunger.

"I'm gonna go meet with Preston real quick. I'll be back just in time for dinner, don't worry." She pressed a kiss to the cold metal of his chassis and left. Preston was waiting for her in what she liked to think of affectionately as her office. It only took a nuclear apocalypse for her to finally get one of her own, and even if it was made out of lumber and old car parts, it was hers and she loved it.

Preston was nose-deep in a pile of supply requests when she walked in. "Hey, General. Just taking care of some of these - ah." The rest of his sentence broke off into a strangled noise of surprise when he looked up at her. He cleared his throat, flushing a deep crimson. "Some of these supply requests. General."

River turned toward her desk, fighting a smile. "Thank you, Preston. I know I've left a lot of work behind for you while I look for Shaun. I want you to know I really appreciate everything you do."

"Well, it's . . . it's, you know." _It's been a long time since I've put a look like that on a man's face. River's back, baby._ "Anyways, did you manage to find any clues?"

"I did. MacCready and I sprung Nick Valentine, and he led me to a man named Kellogg. He was the one who killed my husband and kidnapped Shaun. We tracked him down to Fort Hagen, but he'd already given him up to the Institute."

"River. . . ."

She closed her eyes. "I know. Everyone else looked at me the same way when I told them."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," she said again, her tone final. "But Kellogg is taken care of, and I know who has my son. It's not much, but it's something."

Preston shifted his weight, clearly deliberating over his words. "If I didn't believe in you, I wouldn't have asked you to be General," he offered after a long moment. "I hope you know that I have your back, and the rest of the Minutemen, too."

"Thank you, really. That means a lot to me." She tapped the edge of her desk thoughtfully, clearing her throat. "I assume all this paperwork is a good sign?"

"It is. We've managed to set up the supply lines you mapped out between settlements. The Drive-In had ten new people show up just yesterday."

"That's great news."

"It's fantastic. Only problem is, we're getting a little big for our shoes. It's getting tough to communicate with all our settlements. It's a good problem to have, and I have a solution."

She sighed fondly. "Why can't everyone be as helpful as you, Preston Garvey?"

He accepted her teasing with a knowing smile. "I think it's time to retake the Castle. It used to be the Minuteman HQ, way before my time. Well-fortified, centrally located, and most important, it has a powerful radio transmitter we can use to broadcast to the whole Commonwealth."

"I'm sold."

"Excellent. I still need to do some recon, I just wanted to make sure you were behind the idea before I sent some men over to check the area out."

"You're better at all of this stuff than I am. I trust your judgment a hundred percent," she assured him. "But I appreciate the thought."

Preston nodded, a smile slowly spreading over his face. "You know, normally I'd say something about the merc you brought home with you, but you never do anything 'as General' if you can help it. Now I'm just curious."

"Don't get me started on MacCready," she sighed, rubbing at her temples. "He's already enough trouble on his own."

"You want me to beat him up?"

She laughed. "Thanks, but I kind of need him for now. I'll let you know when I decide he's not funny anymore, though."

"Fair enough." He glanced out of the square-shaped opening that totally counted as a window, as far as River was concerned. "Your robot's looking for you. Don't want to be late for dinner."

"The General is never late for anything," River reminded him pointedly on the doorstep. "She arrives precisely when she means to."

He dipped his head at her. "Yes, ma'am."

She stopped by the Ables' old house, where she'd left MacCready dozing off on the couch an hour ago. He was up when she got there, a cigarette clamped between his lips, sniper rifle spread apart in pieces over the coffee table.

"If it isn't the General," he greeted her, leaning his head back with a smirk. The expression froze on his face when he saw her, his eyes dragging slowly up her legs and lingering just a moment too long on the shape of her lips. If she'd thought that appreciative look was gratifying on Preston's face, it was an absolute treat on MacCready. _A girl could really get used to this._

"Hungry?" she asked, lifting a brow at him.

He choked on the next inhale, the cigarette falling into his lap. He scrambled to pick it up before it burned a hole in his pants, sending her an accusing glare.

"Codsworth made dinner," she explained innocently, trying to keep the smile from her face.

"I'm a merc, not a pet," he snapped and put the cigarette safely out in an ashtray on the table. "You don't need to feed me."

She inspected her nails, frowning at the chaotic state they were in. "I have booze," she offered casually, glancing up for his reaction.

MacCready scowled; the look spelled defeat. "Fine."

River had to admit, when she'd designed her kitchen, she'd never imagined it in this state - scorch-marked and ruined, filled with the smell of perfectly cooked brahmin steak, a mercenary pulling his hat off as he sat down across the table from her - some hilarious facsimile of a life she'd lived once. But then almost every part of her life now was twisted and foreign in some way. She felt constantly on the cusp of getting swept up and lost amongst the chaos, the grief and the confusion.

And then MacCready took a bite of his food and she got to watch the wonder pass over his normally surly face, even if he tried to hide it quickly behind another glower.

That was good enough, she figured, for a lonely widow like herself.

For now.

* * *

MacCready knew better than this, or at least he thought he did - _god only knows why_. He shouldn't have had dinner at her place, shouldn't have had so many drinks there, and definitely shouldn't have followed her up to the roof, where they were now passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Being up here alone with her - correction: being _drunk_ alone up here with her - was trouble waiting to happen, especially when she looked like _that_ , an absolute sin in blue jeans and violet lipstick that made him think of ripe mutfruit. It was gonna take a long time to get the image of her like that out of his brain. He tried to drown it in alcohol . . . it worked about as well as it ever had before.

But River was being uncharacteristically chatty - not their normal snarky back-and-forth, but a muddled stream-of-consciousness that washed over him like a wave, leaving behind little pieces of her he would've been better off not knowing.

"One day, you have to teach me how you do it."

"Hmm?" He realized he'd been studying her profile, her sun-bronzed porcelain against the dark night sky.

"How to snipe a guy's head off like it's no big deal."

"Impressed, huh? I told ya I was a damn good shot."

"I should've known better than to expect modesty from you," she laughed. He'd never heard anyone laugh as much as River did. She laughed loudly and often, didn't seem to care who could hear it, and it might've gotten on his nerves if the sound didn't move through him like some kind of ghost, reawakening hungers he hadn't tangled with in years. "I shouldn't laugh," she added softly, as if she could read the flow of his thoughts. "It'll only encourage you."

"Don't worry, I'll probably do it anyways." He could probably get addicted to the sound of her voice, like smoke and honey, tempting and terrifying all at once. The hole he was burying himself into got deeper every time he heard it. "I'm completely self-taught you know," he went on, the whiskey talking now. "Picked up a sniper rifle when I was ten years old and never looked back."

"Jesus, ten years old," she repeated solemnly. "I was reading books and doing gymnastics at ten, not learning how to shoot a gun. . . . Children don't really get to be children out here, do they?"

"You grow up quick, maybe, but kids are kids. They'll always find some way to wreak havoc and cause trouble."

"That's comforting." The smile slowly returned to her face. "I can only imagine what kind of trouble ten-year-old MacCready got into."

"Probably better if you don't." He ran his thumb over the rim of the whiskey bottle, his stomach lurching with desire when the pad of his finger came away purple from her lipstick. "I actually grew up underground in a place called Little Lamplight with a bunch of other kids. We kind of had a policy there - no adults. Once you were sixteen, you packed up and left."

River rolled over onto her stomach, propping her chin up on the palm of her hand. "You're kidding."

"Completely serious."

"How does a colony of children even survive a nuclear apocalypse?"

"Same way any town works: we each carried our own weight, looked out for each other. I, uh . . ." He chuckled. "I was even mayor for a few years, if you can believe that."

Her laughter was so sharp and so sudden it almost made him jump. "Mayor MacCready." She seemed to be testing out the words, and he tried to keep the fact that no one had called him that in years out of his expression. "That's just . . . too precious for words. Did you wear a hat? Let me guess: it was a little too big for you, wasn't it?"

He didn't reply, but that was answer enough for her.

 _It fits perfectly_ , he'd insisted to the Little Lamplighters that had laughed at his oversized helmet, so big he could hardly see past the edges of it. Lucy had stitched him a new lining that night so it would actually fit properly on his head. He had the confidence the next day to punch Princess in the face after her absurd declaration, and he was mayor for three years after that.

"So you turned sixteen, and then what? They took your key to the city and sent you away?"

"In theory, that's what was supposed to happen, but then that vault dweller I told you about came along. She had a soft heart, couldn't stand the thought of a bunch of kids slumming it in a cave, so she took us all with her."

River lifted a skeptical brow. "Exactly how many is all of us?"

"Fourteen." He tried to ignore the little voice at the back of his head, the one that liked to remind him he was miserable whenever things started turning up his way. _Thirteen now._

"Oh, no." She was already shaking her head emphatically. "I had _one_ kid and my life is falling apart."

 _Tell me about it._ "Yeah, she's a few different kinds of crazy. But we got to grow up in the sun like normal kids, had a home with something like parents for the first time. Some of us turned out a little weird maybe, but we might've honestly been that way before they came along."

"I think you're pretty well-adjusted for a kid who grew up in a cave." She shifted onto her back again, tracing the stars with her eyes, one leg crossed and bouncing over the other. "Hell, I'm no prize and I grew up with almost every advantage you could get. Which was a lot back then."

"Oh, yeah? What's so wrong with you?"

She held up her hand and started counting off on her fingers. "Temperamental, chronic liar, far too sexually aggressive. I hold grudges, I'm bad with my money, horrible flirt -"

"Okay, okay, I get it," he stopped her. _Besides, half of those I knew already and really didn't need reminding of._ "When you list it all off like that, anybody seems like a bad person. You're willing to help me with my problems, even though you've got your own. That counts for something in my book."

River turned her head and he made the mistake of meeting her gaze, that burning amber-orange that itched like a fever under his skin. He'd only ever seen that color in sunsets before, the light that burns at the edge of the horizon, the flicker of a flame before it dies out. Now it was all he fucking saw - it was behind his eyelids when he went to sleep and in his dreams, it burned him to cinders.

He sat up, heartbeat pounding in his ears. The whiskey made him feel heated, flushed, too vulnerable, too exposed under the brute force of her full attention. He couldn't withstand this much pressure. He'd spontaneously combust. "I should go," he announced abruptly.

She tilted her head to the side, first surprise then confusion passing over her face, and he wondered if it was the alcohol that made her so unusually easy to read, or if he'd just learned the nuances of her expressions. Then she smiled and leaned her head back against the roof. "Maybe that's for the best," she agreed, her voice husky and amused. "Big day tomorrow and all."

MacCready glanced back at her before climbing down from the roof. She was stretched out over the blackened shingles, her hair pooling like moonlight around her head, singing quietly to herself.

When he got back to the house, he glared blearily down at the sight of his disassembled sniper rifle. It would have to wait until morning; he didn't have the patience or focus to deal with it right now. He stumbled toward the couch and threw himself down onto it, pressing his face into the ruined polyester until it hurt. Tried not to think about River on the roof next door, or how badly he wanted to climb back up there and peel her out of those fucking jeans.


	10. Just Smoke

River wasn't really the power armor and miniguns type. The suit was flashy and loud, and it did nothing for her figure, which was small, and far more suited to staying quiet and out of sight. She liked her enemies to be dead before they even realized she was there; it was one of the reasons she and MacCready worked so well together. But she knew better than most the importance of sending the right message. And sometimes to send the right message, you needed the right ink.

 _Nothing says 'Leave MacCready alone' like a full suit of T60 power armor._ And the minigun was the perfect salutation to end it off. _Warm regards, General River Bautista._

So that was how River found herself stomping across half the Commonwealth in enough metal to melt down and repurpose into a charter bus, her ears numb from the constant whir and thrum of the power armor around her. Her boots crushed dirt and dry grass, leaving heavy foot prints behind. MacCready led the way for once, and she appreciated the opportunity to watch him work. She was always the one running around in the front, trying to blaze a trail of silent vengeance - and he was always the one hanging back to clean up after her when she inevitably charged in a little too quickly. He moved slower than she did, methodically, scanned the horizon every few paces; she wondered how long that had been a habit of his, and if he even realized he was doing it. Again she experienced that strange combination of admiration and envy toward him. And, getting harder and harder to ignore, the unmistakable burn of desire, twisting in her gut, pooling like heat between her thighs.

She blew her growing bangs out of her face with a puff of breath, hefting the minigun up higher against her hip. The power armor handled all of the weapon's weight, but she was forced to keep her arms in the same position the whole way from Sanctuary.

The highway loomed ominously overhead, another hulking, decayed monument to what had once been human civilization. They moved through the darkness of its cast shadow, until MacCready gestured her over to the cover of a broad, cement support beam.

"We're close," he whispered, peering around the edge of the pillar. "There's usually a few on the ground, keeping watch. I can see them," he added quietly after a beat. He glanced over his shoulder up at her. "You're a little noisy."

"Think you can handle a few little Gunners on your own?"

He was already attaching a suppressor to the barrel of his sniper rifle, a smirk on his face. "Watch me."

 _I'd like to,_ she thought as he disappeared around the edge of the pillar. She leaned back against the solid concrete, resting the end of her minigun on the ground to stretch her arms out straight, but keeping hold of the handles just in case. Over the ambient twitter of wildlife and the distant crackle of a campfire, she listened to the sound of his quiet footsteps fade away. Then, after a long stretch of time, she heard muffled gunfire from his sniper rifle: one shot, then another, then three in rapid succession. Then silence. She held her breath, waiting, listening, straining to catch any sound that might indicate they'd been discovered.

And then MacCready reappeared at her side, a breathless smile on his face. He reloaded his rifle with sure fingers and removed the silencer from the barrel; they wouldn't need it once they got up to the overpass.

She took in the exhilaration and resolve in his expression, the arrogance that always flashed in his gaze. "Show-off."

His laughter was absent, distracted as he checked his pockets for extra ammunition. "Only 'cause you like it so much," he shot back, as easily as any other witty remark he'd tossed her way.

"I do," River agreed in a low voice. _Thought there might be a bit of a flirt in you, MacCready._

Her appreciative tone must have made him realize what he said, and she could see the flush creep up his cheeks even in the darkness. He cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the camp he'd just cleared out. "Come on, let's get going."

She moved as quickly as she could in the clunky armor. Through the darkness, she could make out the faded yellow of a small elevator. MacCready waited until she'd boarded the rickety metal to step on carefully beside her. He held his hand suspended over the faint red glow of the button, glancing up at her face. "You ready for this, boss?"

Her teeth flashed white when she grinned. "Press the button, MacCready."

His thumb depressed the button and the elevator jerked reluctantly to life with a metallic squeal. River hitched the minigun up against her hip, breathing deeply to calm her racing heartbeat. The anticipation before a battle was always the hardest to conquer, that mingling combination of excitement and terror. She thought back to the brief moment she'd spent with Winlock, the hatred that rolled off of him in waves, and imagining that malice anywhere near MacCready summoned a rage that tore through her like thunder. She wasn't the same scared little woman that stumbled out of Vault 111 and withered at the sight of her life, her world, in ruins. She was General River Bautista now, and she would put down any threats to the people she cared about. Even if she didn't entirely understand that care or what it might entail yet.

The elevator finally came to a grinding halt at the overpass. They crept over to a blown-out car and ducked behind it, thankfully unnoticed by the lone gunner standing guard. MacCready rested his rifle over the hood of the car, pressing his eye to the scope.

"Is here good?" she asked him quietly.

"For now."

River nodded, hands tightening in their hydraulic gloves around the bars of her minigun. "Good. Wait 'til it's safe to move up." She lowered her bag to the ground and searched through it for the Vault-Tec lunchbox where she kept her explosives. Once her belt was fully stocked with grenades, she grabbed her helmet from where it hung on her back and pulled it down over her head. After a small hiss of compressed air, the display lit up inside the helmet.

River was in business.

MacCready shook his head, the briefest smile on his face. "Go raise some hell, boss."

She approached the camp with steady, measured steps, squeezing the trigger on her minigun. The unmistakable whir of the barrels rolling to life echoed down the length of the overpass. The gunner standing guard spotted her and shouted for back-up just before the spray of her bullets mowed him down.

River's laughter rang in her helmet as she advanced on the gunners, all scrambling for their weapons and armor. She reached for her belt and grabbed a grenade, pulling the pin and tossing it into the middle of their camp. At least two men got caught in the blast, which filled the area with smoke and debris.

Bullets whizzed past her, the ones that hit true pinging uselessly against her armor. _Thank god for Sturges and the magic that man works with a wrench and blowtorch._ MacCready's sniper sounded occasionally behind her, dropping gunners like clockwork.

River had never felt so powerful before. She proceeded on the gunners like a vengeful spirit, delivering 5mm retribution. She tried to keep count of the men that fell under the hailstorm of bullets, but lost track once she hit the double digits.

In the distance, she heard the familiar build-up of an assaultron's laser charging. The red glow of its face was difficult to track amongst the chaos of moving bodies. She threw another grenade into the fray, backing slowly out of the camp. "MacCready!" she hollered back at him once she was past the guard tower. "Assaultron incoming!"

The machine hunted her aggressively, breaking out of the smoke left behind from her grenade like some kind of horror film. The bullets from her minigun didn't even slow it down.

"The legs!" she heard MacCready shout from behind her. "Shoot its legs!"

Her minigun might as well have been a water hose for all it did against the assaultron. MacCready scored a shot off on one of its legs, bringing it down a few paces away from her. It scrabbled toward her on its elbows, its hands clamping around one of her ankles. She tried to shake it loose, but it held fast and started emitting a frantic beeping noise.

River had just enough time to hold an arm up, instinctively, over her face. And then the assaultron exploded.

* * *

MacCready watched River fall back against a concrete barrier with a deafening clash that rang in his ears. The assaultron was a smoking wreckage of circuits and metal on the ground and River wasn't moving, why the fuck wasn't she moving? He put his eye to the scope, measured his breathing despite the panic that crept like venom under his skin. He picked off two more gunners that were shooting their way, but bullets continued to come from that direction and he didn't have an angle on their source.

Finally the bulky form of her power armor sat up, bracing an arm against the scorched surface of the barrier next to her. She staggered to her feet.

_Fuck, she's alive. Fuck, fuck, okay, focus, fuck._

He quickly reloaded and then provided some cover fire so she had a chance to reorient herself. He wasn't sure how much of the blast the suit had absorbed, if it had been enough to keep her safe inside.

River retrieved her minigun and reloaded it, a good sign at least, movements tight with fury, or maybe pain. He couldn't tell from here. She didn't wait around to let him know. Once the minigun was reloaded, she stormed right back past the guard post into the camp.

"Jesus, River!" he hissed. She drew enough fire that he could safely follow after her, pressing himself against a makeshift wall toward the entrance. He could hear her around the corner, the hydraulic swing of her arms as she aimed the minigun and the thundering churn of its fire.

"Grenade!" she cried, backing away. She retreated a few steps and braced herself when the blast went off. He heard her scream, a frayed sound, pained and enraged even through the filter of her helmet, and then the clatter of her minigun starting up again. A series of masculine shouts followed from further down the camp, followed by another explosion - one of River's grenades this time.

She backtracked to stand near him, the minigun swinging from one arm. Her head turned in his direction, where he had ample cover but no shot on the gunners, then behind her to see a metal desk. She lifted her leg and kicked it over. It tumbled onto its side with a loud crash. Then she pulled the minigun back up and continued her onslaught, providing cover fire so he could slide into place behind the desk for a better vantage point. He felt a brief wave of surprise at how attuned she was to the way he fought, but stuffed the feeling out of the way so he could focus on taking out the last few men.

River favored one of her legs as she started to advance on the gunners again, the armor there shattered and broken. Dark crimson blood was beginning to creep down the fractured metal.

MacCready swallowed down the frustrating way his heart seemed to stretch tightly in his chest, killed another gunner with the last bullet in the chamber. After reloading and putting his eye back to the scope, he caught sight of glinting metal. Winlock.

She swung the minigun and knocked back a gunner standing in her way, sending him crumpling to the ground. MacCready stammered out an awed curse when she lifted her boot and brought it down callously onto the man's head, crushing the metal of his helmet and his skull underneath.

 _That_ was . . . new.

It struck him at that moment that this woman was _in his corner_. She was tearing this gunner camp down to its foundations for _him_ , and nobody had done shit for him since he'd been a child, under Leah's loving, but haphazard care. River had hired him to watch her back, yet here she was, hunting gunners through flames and sprays of blood for him.

River made a beeline for Winlock, a barrage of bullets from her minigun making him stumble backward; he could hear the sound of Winlock's shotgun going off in rapid fire. MacCready moved up as quickly as he could, catching a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye: Barnes, coming up behind River with a sledgehammer in hand.

MacCready knelt behind a small table and took aim, sending a bullet through Barnes' temple before he could even get close, and fuck, it was _satisfying_ , watching his body fall dead to the ground.

Meanwhile River had reached Winlock and was bashing her minigun against him like a battering ram, over and over, forcing him further backward. It was insane and dangerous and kind of funny, and he might have been turned on a little as well. There was a lot going on, mentally and emotionally and physically, feelings he didn't have words for. He just froze for a moment at the sight of her like some kind of fierce robot battle princess, jousting with someone to defend his honor - better than any comic book he'd heard of and one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He wasn't crazy about being the hapless damsel in this situation, especially not for a woman like River, but it was . . . touching, that she was doing this for him.

"MacCready!" she screamed. "Shoot his fucking head!"

 _Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He realized after a few moments he was chanting the word out loud, his heart in his throat as he tracked Winlock through his scope. They were too close together, River kept getting in the way; the shot was too risky. But he had to do something -

Winlock's shotgun was tearing at River's armor with sharp, jarring blasts, stumbling her back. It was enough space, though, for MacCready to get Winlock's forehead in his scope and with one last shot, he was finally dead. His body swayed, and River staggered out of the way of its fall. The loud clatter of the armor hitting concrete was the last remaining echo of their battle, ringing eerily down the empty overpass.

MacCready was already on his feet, pushing over chairs and a table to get to her. She dropped the minigun abruptly to the ground, as if she couldn't bear the weight of it a moment longer, slumping down onto a knee. One of her hands reached gingerly for the latches of her helmet. The damage looked worse the closer he got, dented metal cracked away in places, exposing the silver frame underneath.

"I got it," he said quickly, reaching around to unfasten her helmet. She was gasping for breath when he pulled it away, her cheeks flushed from exertion. The white silk of her hair was coming loose from its coil, and her eyes were wild, pupils blown out and inky black. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," she panted, grimacing as she tried to push herself back up onto her feet. "I gotta get out of this fucking thing."

MacCready helped her to her feet and then the armor slid open with the hiss of released air. He was barely there in time to catch her when she crumpled backward out of it. She trembled in his arms, and he prayed, actually prayed, that it was from adrenaline or shock or something simple, something he could fix, because he really couldn't bear to watch this woman die after what she'd just done for him. He eased her down cautiously against the concrete.

River's eyes were shut tight, a crease worrying her forehead. Her left leg was bloodied and burned. He pulled stimpaks from one of his jacket pockets, pressing a shaking hand to the side of her face, so gently he was hardly touching her at all. She opened her eyes slowly, quickly closed them again. Her sigh of relief was like music to his ears when he slid a stimpak into her arm and the medicine entered her system.

"Fuck. You weren't kidding. That _was_ a hell of a fight." Her voice was throaty, like she'd just been fucked, and that really shouldn't have been the thought that crossed his mind but it had, and now it was there in the middle of all the concern for her well-being and the swell of relief that she was alive while Winlock and Barnes were just smoke and ash. She reached for one of his stimpaks and put the plunger end between her teeth, rolling up the left leg of her pants and puffing out pained little breaths. They both groaned at the sight of the burn there. "Fuck," she grunted again when she slid the syringe into the meat of her calf. She tossed the empty stimpak aside and her head fell back, lips spreading eventually into a smile and that curl of laughter.

He fumbled for his cigarettes. "Smoke?"

"Yes, please." She parted her mouth and he placed the filter between her lips, feeling his own mouth go dry as he lit it for her. She watched his face, even when the flame flickered inches from her skin, its reflection dancing in the black of her pupils. After a long drag of smoke that left her mouth in a slow coil, she nodded. "Is that it?" she asked, and her voice was drier now, more parched than sultry, the adrenaline rush fading into fatigue.

MacCready shifted into a more comfortable position across from her, taking stock of his own aches and pains to see what needed to be dealt with, and what could wait to be a pain in the ass later. River would need some time to recover, maybe even a little sleep, though he doubted she'd be able to from the look in her eyes.

"The assaultron blast, like . . . rattled all the bones around in my head." Her tone was distant, detached, but her eyes were alert when they darted over to meet his. "That's probably not good, right?"

"Yeah, that's like super bad for you."

She barked out a laugh, and even that sounded pained. Yet despite her injuries, her expression was pleased. That proud smile still lingered on her face, and _Jesus, she should be fucking proud, after a show like that_. . . He was struck by the sudden desire to tell her that, to share something with her, he wasn't sure what, just something he actually meant for once.

River ended up speaking first, even if her speech was lilting and languid, perhaps not entirely lucid. "I kinda like it when you patch me up." She popped the last _p_ with a crooked smile, her cigarette dangling, forgotten, between her fingers.

Maybe her half-awake state made him feel confident, the chance she might not remember his boldness later. Or maybe he was grateful, or all the fighting had weakened his normal inhibitions. He smirked at her, watched the brief widening of her eyes in response, because he'd figured out a couple days ago that being an arrogant bastard pleased her in some fucked-up way. That was kind of his MO regardless, so that, at least, was working out for him. "Is that why you keep rushing out into the middle of gunfights?"

Her smile deepened; he could see a flash of white teeth between her lips. "Maybe. Is it working?"

"You're insane. And the weirdest boss I've ever had. And you frustrate the hell out of me. But . . . you stuck your neck out for me, and I don't forget shi-" He groaned in frustration. "I mean, things like that."

River's eyes narrowed at the correction. He was tired of the conversation before it had even started, and almost cut her off when she started to speak, but her first words surprised him into silence.

"My mother never allowed swearing. She didn't believe a woman should swear or drink or stay out late or have sex for pleasure." The last words she said around a coy smile, as if enjoying the way they tasted - or maybe just the way they made his skin burn. "But it, like all of those things, is good for the soul. I don't mind it."

"Believe me, I know. I . . ." _really don't want to have this conversation, but I owe you one, and I can't get you out of my head_ "I made a promise to someone, to clean up my act and try to be a better person."

River studied his face curiously, but thankfully didn't press. She nodded instead toward the corpses and wreckage they'd left behind. "I'm sure this doesn't count."

"No. The things I saw some of those animals do. . ." He shook his head. "This was legitimate. And now that we've taken out this entire waypoint, there's no one left who even knows my name. I'm in the clear." Damn, if that didn't feel good to say. "Think you can make it to Diamond City? We're not far."

She nodded. "Grab what supplies you can."

MacCready got to his feet, craning his neck from side to side to stretch out the stiffness there. "What about the super suit?"

Her eyes swept over the power armor where it stood above her, calculating. "Collateral damage. I'll send some men to retrieve it later, once we're back in Sanctuary. I just can't bear to be in that thing another second." She plucked at the neck of her shirt to cool her flushed skin, and his mind strayed. . . he could close the distance between them in two strides, unwrap her from her clothes like a fucking present, catch the bead of sweat that trailed down her throat between his teeth - _Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!_

"You're the boss," he said severely, more for himself than for her. _The boss._ _ **The Boss.**_ _Not someone I want to bend over that table and fuck until I can't feel my legs anymore._ It would be so easy; she was injured, but he could be gentle- _OH MY GOD, keep it together!_ He turned back, quickly, stumbled away from her on unsteady legs. It was just the adrenaline, finding a different way to put his body on edge now that the danger was over. It was the sound of her laughter, rough and sweet behind him, and the fact that she had just slaughtered twenty men for him. It was the sensation of drowning, over and over again.

It was River.

* * *

A storm had rolled in like a cloak of rain and churning clouds over the Commonwealth. The erratic strikes of lightning and the earth-trembling thunder that followed made her skin crawl with anticipation, or maybe some sort of lingering thrill from the gunfire. Her body was sore, but the rain was soothing and familiar; she'd always loved a good storm before the bombs fell, when she could admire them from behind the warmth and comfort of a glass window pane. It was only fitting that she experience them now outside. She was a part of this wasteland now, too, and it was a part of her. It was in the scars all over her body, where the deathclaw had pierced her skin, the two bullets MacCready had pulled out of her, and now what would surely be a new pattern of scar tissue from the burn on her leg.

The man himself was grumpy the whole way to Diamond City. An aversion to getting wet, she gathered from the look on his face and the ill-tempered way he tucked his hands under his arms. All the little things she learned about him she mentally filed away with a terrifyingly familiar rush - the thrill of being _interested_ in someone, smiling when they drifted through her thoughts, which was often, _Why is he scowling_ now _? What does he dream of at night? What do those hands feel like wandering down my ribs?_

They would feel amazing. She knew it without even having experienced it, even if she dreamt of it, longed for it, even as the guilt that followed washed through her and stole the breath from her lungs. It was like she could feel every one of her two hundred some years of not being fucked, bearing down on her, heating the blood in her veins, and it was slowly unraveling her patience and her reason.

They stomped into the Dugout, aching, tired, and soaked to the bone. Trying to ignore the stares she always drew, especially as whispers of her work with the Minutemen made it all the way here to Diamond City, where Travis stumbled over reports about her on the radio, she shoved the caps at Yefim and marched right past him into the room.

"Room two is yours," he repeated to the empty air that remained, returning to his newspaper.

River was halfway undressed when she heard the door close behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to see MacCready with his hands planted over his face like a child. She couldn't help her laughter. "You are _adorable_ ," she told him affectionately.

He sighed from beneath his palms, a heavy, frustrated sound. "You could've given me some warning."

"Just turn around, then. You can't stay in those wet clothes, either. At the risk of sounding like my mother, you'll catch a cold. I won't look, I promise." She hissed in pain when trying to peel her wet pants down over the still raw skin of her leg. "Fuck, that hurts."

"You okay?" His voice sounded concerned, but far away, bouncing off the opposite wall. Over it, she could hear the sound of damp, rustling clothing as he undressed.

"I'll be all right." River pulled her shirt up over her head, tossed it to the side where it landed on the ground with a wet _splat_. Her bra was completely soaked, leaving behind a wet trail over her breasts when she unfastened it. She hooked her thumbs into the edges of her underwear, but hesitated, listening to MacCready grumble as he struggled with his wet clothing behind her. Being naked in the same room as him was dangerously close to a few fantasies she'd been torturing herself with, but she wasn't going to subject herself to sleeping in wet underwear for modesty's sake.

She pushed her damp panties to the ground and stepped out of them - _in her daydreams, MacCready rips them off of her_. One arm curled around her breasts, she poked through her bag with the other one. A small towel was one of the few luxuries she could afford to carry around, for nights such as these. It felt heavenly, drawing the cold rain from her skin, leaving her body blessedly dry. She pulled on a shirt and her sleeping shorts, then fished a bottle of whiskey she'd scavenged from her bag. A few sips filled her with warmth, and she finally felt comfortable again, despite the dull ache of her injuries.

"Okay," MacCready eventually announced with a huff of breath. She chanced a look over her shoulder and still almost groaned at what she saw. His shirt was plain, probably white once, clearly scavenged and just a tad too big for him, but it clung flatteringly to places where the lean musculature of his chest was still wet. He scraped his hands through his wet hair with a casual masculinity that was far too appealing.

She would've liked to have touched him, then; her whole body burned for it. She wondered how long it had been since he'd come, and how quickly she might be able to suck him off. It wasn't fair to MacCready, thinking of him this way, and it was definitely a stupid idea to get herself all worked up like this in the one place she couldn't touch herself.

The whiskey burned on its way down her throat and made her eyes water. At MacCready's questioning look, she twisted the cap shut tight and tossed the bottle at him, watched him catch it with careless ease.

He stared down at it in his hands, rubbed his thumb over the faded label on the front. After a long moment, he lifted his gaze back to hers. "Thanks, River," he said quietly. "I can't tell you what it means to finally have those guys off my back."

"The world needed to be rid of Winlock and Barnes. More importantly, you needed help. You were there for me when I went after Kellogg -"

"You paid me," he reminded her, rolling his eyes. "That's kind of the point of being a hired gun."

River shrugged. "I'm glad we did it. There's no need to thank me."

MacCready scowled, clearly dissatisfied with wrapping things up like that. "How about this?" He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a metal tin. "These are all the caps you paid me to watch your back."

Her lips flattened into a tight line. "MacCready. No."

"I owe you one, and I always repay my debts." Each word was firmer than the last, that familiar tenacity seeping into his tone. "If I pay you back, we're even."

"I don't accept."

"What do you mean, you don't accept?"

"I mean I don't accept! I don't need them. I want you to have them."

" _I_ want _you_ to have them!"

"Well, then, you and I are at an impasse." She curled up onto the bed, pulling the tattered sheet up over her shoulder. After a beat, she rolled over and glared back at him across the room. "If I wake up and find those caps in my bag, I'm going to give them away to the first person I see."

MacCready opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, considering the chances of her following through on that threat. "Fine," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'll find some way to repay you."

River smiled. "I don't doubt it." She rested her head onto the pillow and yawned into the back of her hand. "Sweet dreams, MacCready."

He took a long swig of her whiskey, staring off into the distance. A flush bloomed in crimson up his neck. "Yeah," he agreed in a dry voice. "Night, River."

It was a long time before she fell asleep. When she finally did, her dreams were a fractured disarray of viscera and violence, thickened by that heady lust that always teased at her thoughts. Snatches here and there of blood splatter and screams, then of Nate's body and hands, then the dry gust of wind, crackling with heat and radiation, that had left Boston and her life the ruined remains that they were.

Then MacCready's voice, like some kind of prayer in her head.

_Some things you can't let go of. They just stay with you._


	11. And All The Ashes

River was a morning person.

He shouldn't have been surprised, really. River clung faithfully to her habits, or it might've been more accurate to say they clung to her, because most of them were impractical or downright ridiculous. But they were parts of her, so they were foreign and enchanting all at the same time, lingering ghosts from her previous life that lived on in her like rays of her sunlight. At first, he'd assumed she did it for vanity's sake - her make-up, her impossibly long hair, the flirtation that came so easily to her he couldn't ever be sure if he could trust it. Now he was starting to think they were a comfort, her way of laughing back in the face of a wasteland that had taken so much from her. It was stupid, and it was fearless, and heartbreaking, and only River could subject him to so many damn _feelings_ this early in the fucking morning.

"Okay, how about your favorite food?" She'd been quizzing Valentine about pre-war life the whole way from Diamond City back to Goodneighbor.

"Apple pie," he answered after a brief moment of thought. "Back when I used to still eat food."

She laughed. "The American classic. I like it. It's very . . . you." Her voice was warm; MacCready would've mistaken it for flirtatious if he hadn't heard her when she actually meant it, that heated, throaty whisper that seared his skin and bones - the one she saved, somehow, just for him. This was just how River was, sultry and compelling and sometimes sincere, and he was starting to recognize the signs of getting pulled into her currents. He'd been barely treading water there himself for over a week now. "I would kill for a real _breakfast_ , like at one of those old diners. Fluffy eggs and bacon and pancakes covered in syrup. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water."

"Big cup of joe to wash it all down," Valentine added.

"You read my mind." She savored the memory with a tender smile. "Thanks for indulging my nostalgia, Nick. I'm sorry if it's a little tough to talk about."

"You really like thinking about all this old stuff, don't you?"

"It doesn't really feel like pining anymore. Just . . . thinking back fondly," she said in a small voice. "Anyways, thank you. For this and for everything you've done. I've been incredibly fortunate to meet the people I have. I couldn't have done any of this alone."

"You coulda done a lot more than you think, I bet," he disagreed with a smile. "We'll get your boy back. If Amari can't help, we'll find another way."

That seemed like a dangerous promise to make, given the circumstances. It was them against the entire Institute. River could pick MacCready apart and weave herself into all the pieces, but nobody had _ever_ found a way into the Institute.

And then she smiled, with that look on her face like everything was somehow going to be fine. Maybe he was an idiot, but he was starting to believe it, too. And if everything fell apart, if the worst came to pass, she would need someone. She couldn't suffer that alone. _Jesus Christ. I've only known this woman a week, and now I'm - I'm what to her? What the fuck is she to me?_ A couple days ago, it had been simple fantasies, growing more detailed and torturous over time, but MacCready was nobody's savior. He wasn't noble, he wasn't a martyr or a hero, he couldn't bear that weight for her. He could hardly stand the pain of his own wounds.

Deep down, he knew he owed her something. He just wasn't sure how much of himself he had left to give.

* * *

Nick and Hancock shared a brief, back-slapping embrace.

"Never thought I'd say this, but it's damn good to see that mug of yours again," Nick said with a gruff fondness.

"Who do you think armed these two up to the teeth to come spring ya? By the way," he added, turning accusing eyes to River. "I heard you were payin' for all sorts of shit in my town. I'm gonna lock all your caps away in a safe if you can't keep 'em to yourself."

"You can try to take them from me," she said, lifting her chin defiantly. She heard MacCready exhale a little harder from his nose beside her. Maybe he liked it when she was bratty, too. She'd learned from the best, after all.

Hancock blinked at her, his thumb worrying the edge of his desk, a look she'd recognize on any man's face, ghoul or not. It was like none of these men had ever seen a woman like her before. Maybe they hadn't. Either way, all this attention was doing horrible things to her ego. Pretty soon, there was going to be no stopping her. _Poor MacCready_.

"We're here to see Dr. Amari," Nick cut in. "She might be able to help us find River's son."

"I hope so," the mayor agreed evenly, turning the dark flash of his eyes to River. "I wish you luck, sister."

"Thank you."

"I'm sure Irma will be glad to see you," Hancock added to Nick as they turned to leave, a smirk on his face. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

Nick held the door open with a roll of his eyes. "I'll talk to you later, John."

River passed him into the hallway, smiling coyly. "Are you blushing, Nick?"

"Synths don't blush," he replied in a clipped tone.

She shot MacCready a conspiratorial smile. He smiled back, but it was distant. His eyes never stopped moving as they followed Nick to the Memory Den, passing distrustfully from one face to the next. She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. "Hey, is everything all right?"

He looked down at her in surprise, then cleared his throat. "Yeah. Tired, that's all. Vadim woke me up with his loud ass voice this morning."

"Why don't you go to the Rexford and sleep a couple hours? You don't have to come with us."

He shook his head, his mouth a hard line. "No chance."

She curled a hand around his arm and squeezed, feeling lean muscle that tensed with surprise beneath her fingers. "Thanks. I like having you with me."

"I know," he said, with that familiar smirk she was beginning to love on him.

The Memory Den was tended by a beautiful woman named Irma. Nick greeted her with a masculine warmth to his voice, and it was fascinating to watch the emotions play across his synthetic features. They flirted back and forth before she finally let him go, and then they followed him downstairs.

A dark-haired woman in a lab coat was typing busily away at a terminal across the room, between two open memory loungers.

"Dr. Amari," Nick called quietly, "I'm sorry to bother you."

She turned, brow creasing in concern. "Detective Valentine. I assume this isn't a social call."

"What I'm about to ask is gonna sound impossible, but I'm only here because I've seen you work miracles before."

River's lips twitched. _Smooth talker._

"Go on," the doctor allowed, eyes narrowing shrewdly at his praise. "Get to the point."

"I have a piece of a dead man's brain," River cut in firmly, the voice she used when she needed to be taken seriously. "If you can get me a look inside, it may hold the whereabouts of the Institute."

Dr. Amari watched, eyes widening in alarm, as River pulled the ammo box with Kellogg's brain from her bag. She glanced at Nick. "Who did you kill to get this?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Institute mercenary named Kellogg," Nick explained calmingly. "And the pleasure was all River's."

"He murdered my husband and kidnapped my son," she added. "The Institute has him now, and I need any help I can get to find him."

Amari nodded uncertainly. "All right, this is highly unusual, but . . . let me take a look." She took the box from River and opened it with impatient, skeptical eyes, then gasped at what she saw. "My god, this isn't a brain. I mean, that's the hippocampus, certainly, but this neural interface attached to it. . . ." She brought it over toward the terminal, into the light for a better look. "I've never seen anything like this before, but it's definitely Institute. Most of their technology is composed of a similar nature. Including you . . . Detective," she added after a moment of hesitance.

"No," River said at once. "That's too risky."

"If it'll help you find your boy," Nick offered, holding his hands out.

"Nick, I don't want any part of Kellogg anywhere near you," she insisted, feeling her voice tighten with panic.

"I'm tougher'n I look," he promised, gripping her hand in his good one. The bright yellow optics of his eyes flickered over her face. "Now lemme do my job and help a pretty dame in a tight spot, all right?"

Tears filled her eyes, but she let him go with a nod. "Thank you. I'll never forget this." She stepped back next to MacCready and worried her lip as Nick sat down in front of Dr. Amari, holding his hat in his lap.

"Quit talkin' like that, I'll be fine," he griped.

Dr. Amari had the back plate of his head open now, fingers moving deftly inside. "I need you to keep talking to me, Detective. Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire. Are you feeling any different?"

"There's a lot of flashes . . . static . . . I can't make sense of any of it, doc."

Amari straightened solemnly. "That's what I was afraid of. The mnemonic impressions are encoded."

"Is Nick gonna be all right?" River asked worriedly.

"He should be fine. The connections all appear stable. But the Institute put one last failsafe on the memories in the implant. The encryption is too strong for a single mind . . . though I suppose, if we used two. . . . We could load both you and the detective into the memory loungers and run your cognitive functions in parallel."

River was already nodding. "Okay, let's do this."

MacCready grabbed one of her arms, slowing her as she stepped toward the open lounger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"I'm gonna go in Kellogg's brain to find my son," she explained. "And then I'm gonna burn what's left of him."

"No way, it's too dangerous."

"Nick was fine -"

"Nick is _made_ of that stuff. You're . . ." He trailed off with a frustrated groan, gripping her shoulders in his hands. His eyes searched hers, that hard, bright blue, tight around the edges with concern. Normally he seemed to avoid touching her, but his fingers were gentle on her, almost reverent. It was a brief, heady tenderness that brought a flicker of life back to her broken heart, a new energy to her bones that felt heavy and weak.

 _You are so beautiful and so, so young._ It was probably wrong to want him all the ways that she did, but she felt like _a woman_ again when he was around, not a survivor or a general but an honest-to-god woman. And now here he was trying to protect her, in his stilted, surly way. She felt a swell of gratitude and affection for him. There were a thousand things that felt wrong in her life, and for some reason, he was the only one that felt right. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing up onto her tiptoes to embrace him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes when his arms closed instinctively around her. She felt peaceful, for the first time, in the strong curl of his hold. "I have to . . ."

"Yeah, I know," he cut her off under his breath, and his voice so near her ear sent chills down her spine. She listened to his heartbeat for a moment longer, savoring his proximity, the intimate warmth of being held that she'd gone so long without. He pressed his cheek to the crown of her head, his stubble rough against her temple. His shoulders were tense beneath her hands, and he shuddered when her fingers brushed the back of his neck. She pulled reluctantly from his arms.

"I'll be right back," she promised, squeezing his hand one last time.

Nick was already waiting in his lounger, pretending he hadn't been watching them curiously, while Dr. Amari prepared the loungers from the terminal. "So . . . the young, strapping mercenary, huh?" he teased her, lifting a brow.

"Don't you even start," she responded with playful iciness, climbing into the open lounger. "If we make it out of this, then we can talk boys, but until then my lips are sealed."

"Fair enough, doll." He leaned his head back as the glass door closed over him.

MacCready stepped over to her side, a crease of worry between his brows. She jumped when the lounger closed with a hydraulic hiss, a screen sliding into place in front of her. Her eyes drifted to MacCready, through the glass. She blew him a kiss, and he smiled, her new favorite sight in the whole damn world.

The screen flickered to life, white static that buzzed deep in her ears.

"Initiating brain-wave migration between the transplant and the host," Dr. Amari listed off from somewhere behind her. "Mnemonic activity coming from the transplant. It's degenerated, but it's there!"

MacCready glanced over at the doctor before looking back to River, and there was something familiar in his eyes, something she hadn't seen in literal centuries. She'd lost everything a person really ever could, but maybe she'd _found_ something here, in him, something she could hold onto.

"We're going to load you into the strongest memories we can find. They might not be stable . . . just hold on!"

"See you soon," MacCready promised firmly, and then everything went white.

* * *

The inside of Kellogg's brain was . . . dark. Maps of webby synapses scattered like constellations all around her, deep, viscous purple against the pitch blackness of a dead man's consciousness.

"Can you hear me? Ah, good. The simulation appears to be working," Dr. Amari informed her with relief. "Although the memories are quite fragmentary. I'll try to step you through the intact memories, and hope we find one that gives us some clue to the Institute's location."

The memories started off earlier than she'd expected - Kellogg couldn't have been older than nine or ten in the first one, wide-eyed and gangly. She watched wordlessly as flashes of his life played out before her, moments of peace, and of heartbreak, and of vengeance, and of death. The parallels between his life and hers were too obvious to ignore, and she wasn't sure what kind of cosmic lesson she was supposed to be gleaning from stepping into Kellogg's shoes _now_ , days after his body had gone cold, but whatever it was, it was bullshit. After what he'd experienced, he'd known exactly what he was doing to her, taking her family from her and leaving her with nothing, and he'd done it either way.

One death was not enough for a man like Kellogg.

When the gray, concrete walls of Vault 111 started to appear around her, her whole body went tense. _No, this can't be happening. Please don't make me watch this again, anything but this, I can't bear it. Please, please, please -_

"No." An echo of MacCready's voice, hollow and panicked, cutting through the ring of Kellogg's footsteps as he marched down the line of cryopods toward hers and Nate's. "Don't do this to her, come on, skip over this one or something!"

"I can't do that. We need to keep going, else this was all for nothing," Amari insisted back.

_MacCready, please, I can't do this again -_

"I'm sorry." His voice sounded close, hushed and regretful.

They were standing in front of Nate's pod now. It was opening with a hiss of air. Nate tried to stand on weak knees, Shaun fidgeting in his arms. "Shaun," he said, his voice rough from slumber. "You're okay." He turned to Kellogg and the Institute scientist. "River - my wife, where is she?"

The scientist was reaching for their son. River's vision went red with rage. She was going to get Shaun back and burn the Institute to the fucking ground. She knew what came next, knew she should've looked away, tried to protect herself in some way, but seeing Nate alive again, even in the memories of his killer, was too sweet a temptation to resist.

"I'm not giving you Shaun!" Nate roared.

And then she watched her husband die all over again.

* * *

MacCready swallowed down the bitter taste at the back of his throat. His heartbeat was rushing in his ears, panic gripping at him, screaming to leave this room that was spinning like a nightmare around him, run from this town, leave the whole damn Commonwealth behind to escape the darkness that chased his memories.

It was the suddenness that was so terrifyingly familiar - the swing of Kellogg's arm, the deafening gunshot, and Nate's body slumping, falling, dead in an instant - the hiss of the ferals echoing down the metro tunnel, Duncan wailing in his arms, Lucy's flesh and blood and bones and her screams that haunted his nightmares for years.

He pushed out the memories as best he could, even as they tore and scraped at what little semblance of a resolve he'd managed to build up since he lost his wife. It felt like he was being ripped apart, but he couldn't leave River here to endure this alone, even if it meant reliving the worst day of his life. He would bear it to be there for her when she woke up, and holy shit, he'd been wrong, he'd been dead wrong; he would endure any number of pains to keep her in his life, to keep that tender little smile on her face. Whether he could withstand such pressure remained to be seen, but he would try, even if it broke him. She was worth it.

Amari was coaching River gently forward, voicing concerns about any repercussions from staying under so long.

MacCready's hands shook. He wanted to go back in time and kill Kellogg himself, wring the life from his stupid, balding head with his bare hands. And then he wanted to scream at Amari for putting River through it again, even though a small part of him was lucid enough to understand there was no way she could've known it would happen. He just couldn't get the sound of River's desperate begging out of his head, _MacCready, please, I can't do this again_ , and he would've done anything to protect her, but all he could do was stand there like an idiot and watch in horror.

River was silent all through the last memory, her eyes on Shaun, probably trying to burn the sight of him into her memory. It's what he would've been doing. He was a good-looking kid, dark brown hair and sharp eyes, on the slender side, like his mother. MacCready was just glad she got a glimpse of him, something she could hold onto when the journey inevitably got harder.

It seemed like, despite his best efforts to resist her, he was coming along for the ride.

In the memory, Kellogg was talking with some courser in black leather. They mentioned a rogue Institute scientist named Virgil, and then the courser took Shaun and they disappeared in a flash of blue lightning.

"Teleportation," Amari remarked in fascination. "Now it all makes sense. Nobody's found the entrance to the Institute, because there is no entrance.

"Can we just get her out of there, please?" he urged her, clenching his hands uselessly.

"Of course. Hold on, River. I'll pull you from the memory, and then you can come out whenever you're ready."

Valentine's lounger opened first, and his eyes blinked open. He looked around, reorienting himself, and then climbed stiffly out of the lounger. "How's she doing, doc?"

"She should be coming out any moment now. Maybe it's best you two give her some space."

MacCready crossed his arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

"He should stay," Valentine agreed wearily. "I'll wait upstairs."

Amari nodded uneasily as he grabbed his hat and left.

The door to River's lounger raised up, and her eyes flew open, pupils pinpricks of black, gasping for breath. "MacCready," she cried, scrambling to get out of the seat. He reached for her, and she threw herself into his arms. She clung to him tightly, gripping his jacket. Her eyes were shut tight as she fought for breath, trembling violently in his arms. She was probably watching him die, over and over again in her head. He knew that little feedback loop of horrors all too well, and it never did anything except make him feel like complete shit.

He cradled the side of her face. "River - hey, look at me."

She opened her eyes reluctantly, tears spilling over the edges. He brushed one away with the pad of his thumb. "Stay with me, okay? You're safe. It's over."

Eventually she seemed to calm down. She stilled, leaning into his palm, her fingers curling around his wrist to keep his hand there. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He held her tighter, until his face was pressed into her hair and he could feel its softness against his skin. It was hard to remember any of the reservations he'd had about developing feelings for her when she was this close. Seemed like it was a little too late for that now anyways. He could feel her breathing shakily against his shoulder, hear the hitch of tears in her voice, and he wanted to hold her until she didn't hurt anymore, even if the world turned to ash around them first.

It didn't feel like drowning anymore. He wasn't sure what came after that, but it probably didn't bode well for him.

Amari cleared her throat, trying to find a non-intrusive way into their moment; there really wasn't one. "Take things slowly, all right, River? I don't know what kind of side effects the procedure might have had. No one's ever done this before. How do you feel?"

River pulled away, her eyes wet with tears. She wiped them away on the back of her hand. "I'm all right."

"I'm sorry about . . ." The doctor took a deep breath. "Anyways. I want you to keep monitoring yourself. We have to be sure there's no long-term damage."

 _It's a little late for that, doc_ , MacCready wanted to say. He tightened his fingers around the hand River had left wrapped in his.

"Are you . . . ready to talk about what happened in there?" she asked hesitantly.

She closed her eyes, thinking back. "He mentioned a scientist, Virgil. If I can find him, maybe he can help me find a way in."

"I suppose it's possible, if he managed to defect without being hunted down. But if even the Institute can't find him. . . . Where did the memory say he was? The Glowing Sea? That can't be right. It's too risky going out there, even to hide."

"No one would follow him there," River said with a weary shrug.

"That must be it. He's using the radiation like a shield or - or a cloak . . . a way to throw them off and get the upper hand."

"This is fascinating stuff and all, but can we wrap it up so I can get her out of here?"

"MacCready," River scolded him softly, but there was no heat to her voice.

"I'm sorry, he's right," Dr. Amari agreed reluctantly. "You should get some rest after that ordeal. We can think about how to find this Virgil later."

"Thank you for your help, doctor. You've given me a . . . a lot to think about."

River held onto MacCready's arm as they climbed the stairs, still somewhat unsteady on her feet. She didn't speak, and he wasn't really sure what to say himself. So he just let her hang onto him, and it seemed to ease some of her anxiety, being able to lean her head against his shoulder.

Valentine was waiting for them on a loveseat near the door. River stepped toward him, reaching out to pull him into a grateful hug.

The synth's mouth twisted into a cruel smile, Kellogg's voice on his tongue. "Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head, little girl. I knew it was a mistake, letting you live."

"Seems that way from your end, doesn't it?" River hissed, shaking loose from MacCready's arms when he made to pull her away.

Valentine blinked, the smile vanishing instantly from his face. "River? What's going on? What's wrong?"

"I - you . . . you sounded like Kellogg." River's eyes welled with tears, and she shook her head. "Am I going crazy?"

"No, I heard it," MacCready agreed cautiously.

The detective sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry. Dr. Amari said there still might be some mnemonic impressions left over. I guess that's what she meant. Maybe you should go and get some rest, kid. We can talk later."

MacCready waited for River to step out of earshot and dropped his voice to a hiss. "Look, I don't know what the hell that was about, but Kellogg's never getting near her again - got it?"

Valentine eyed him, like he couldn't tell whether to be offended or impressed, eventually nodded in understanding. "You're not the only one who cares about her, kid."

"Good."

MacCready caught up to River at the door, offering her his arm again, which she accepted with a small smile. She was quiet the whole way to the Rexford, eyes downcast. Her hands were soft on his arm, and she normally would've taken the opportunity to tease him, to stoke the fires of his lust for her that burned him to madness, but he couldn't even get her to meet his gaze. She was like a walking ghost, and every second of her silence ate away at him like a physical pain.

He tormented himself as they climbed the stairs, S _ay something, you stupid son of a bitch._  

"River . . ." he stammered finally, and that seemed like a decent enough place to start. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes soft and patient, like she was waiting for him to break her into a thousand pieces. "It gets easier," he finally managed. "Not much easier, and not soon, but eventually it gets almost bearable."

Her lips parted around a pained sigh, eyes glancing back and forth between his. "Please tell me you're just being encouraging, and not speaking from experience."

He opened his mouth, but thought better of lying and closed it again. His past was the last line of defense against her and everything she did to him. Some small, masochistic part of him wanted her to see all of him, the scars and secrets, so she would finally realize he couldn't be what she needed and move on to someone else. Hancock seemed more than interested in getting to know her better, from the way he was eye-fucking her this morning. She had _Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minuteman_ waiting on her every word back in Sanctuary, too. There were any number of perfectly functional, not broken men who could and probably already did care for her.

River's brows twitched in irritation, and some of the color returned to her cheeks. "Cryptic doesn't suit you, MacCready," she snapped, her lips turning down into an actual pout, and damn it, she was so fucking cute when she was mad. He couldn't help laughing, and her scowl deepened.

"Don't look at me like that! Like you're not cryptic all the freaking time."

"I'm moody," she corrected him, and he half expected her to stomp her little foot in indignation. "The wasteland makes me _moody_."

He rolled his eyes. "I am _well_ aware."

" _You_ , especially, make me moody," she accused him icily, and this was better, this was _much_ better. A fighting River was a strong River.

" _I_ make _you_ moody?" He barked out an incredulous laugh, making her jump. Maybe he was pushing it a little too far now, but she was irresistible when she was all worked up like this. "Really? That is _hilarious_ , coming from you. If you had any idea how crazy you make me, maybe I'd feel a little more sorry for you."

River stared at him for a long moment, the ire fading from her expression, morphing into something different, something dangerous and familiar. "You're right," she murmured absently, her eyes on his mouth, drifting closer. She blinked, then, as if remembering abruptly where she was, and cleared her throat, digging around in her pocket for the key to her room. Her eyes drifted back to his, her cheeks pink. "You know, I really needed you today, MacCready. I'm a lucky lady, to have you looking out for me." She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw, leaving behind a searing heat and the lingering smell of her hair. "Thank you." She squeezed her fingers around his, and then unlocked her door and disappeared behind it.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there in the hallway, staring down at the faded carpet under his feet. He thought of Lucy and of Nate, and the pieces of him and River that were gone now with them. She deserved to share what she had left with someone, if that's what she needed. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was selfish, but he wanted it to be him.


	12. Make You Feel

River woke up around noon after a long night of hardly any sleep, her head heavy and aching. She felt like death, and probably looked worse, couldn't bring herself to spare her reflection even a glance. She wove her hair into a loose braid, threw on some sweats, and planned on stopping at Daisy's first thing for the darkest pair of shades she could buy. Nick was probably waiting for her to show up and discuss everything that happened yesterday, and just imagining the conversation was already making her head throb.

Then she walked past the open door of MacCready's room, where he was stretched out over the couch, a comic book open but neglected on his chest. He got to his feet when he noticed her and for the briefest moment, before he had a chance to close himself off from her, she watched the heat and desire pass over his features.

_Fuck, MacCready, you're killin' me_. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the sweet, familiar ache that settled between her thighs. She'd hardly just rolled out of bed, and here he was, looking at her like _that,_ like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen - if she wasn't careful, he would split her heart open and she'd never be the same again. Her entire being burned with a hunger that reached down to her bones, and MacCready's body was screaming her name, the line of his shoulders, the taut skin over his throat and how she imagined he would taste under her mouth. "Jesus." She cradled her head in her hands, attempting to rub the images out of her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

River backed away when he took a step towards her, holding her hands up defensively. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing into a familiar glare that meant he was going to put up a fight. "That's why you're all jumpy."

"All right, my head is pounding," she admitted reluctantly, "And I feel like shit."

"Then let me help you." He tried again to close the distance between them, and River backed further into the hallway.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she breathed, her stomach doing anxious turns at the look of concern on his face. This shift in their relationship left her grasping for straws - she was used to the light banter, the flirtation, the fantasies that were slowly inching toward compulsion. When she'd been trapped in Kellogg's memories, reliving every brutal second of her husband's murder, she'd been thinking of _MacCready_ \- his name was the first thought in her mind when she came to, and then he'd been _there_ , pulling her into his arms and holding her together when she felt like she'd been shattered into fragments.

He clenched his hands, struggling with himself for a moment, and then he sighed. "Do you need a stimpak?"

"No." _I need you to put out this fire you've started in me._ In the past week alone, she'd stormed warehouses, and a vault, and a fort, and a highway fucking overpass. Her life was perpetual motion and terror and she wanted a few peaceful days for herself so she could explore what they had here without the threat of gunfire looming immediately overhead. "I want to go home. In fact, I'm gonna go talk to Nick and Hancock right now, and then we're leaving for Sanctuary, if that's okay."

MacCready studied her face, his brows pushed together as he tried to piece together her thoughts. _Please don't try, you will drive yourself insane. I don't even know what the fuck is going on up here._ "You're the boss," he said finally with a shrug, such a familiar gesture now it had become comforting.

She hesitated in the doorway, teeth digging into her bottom lip. She'd stared up at the ceiling for hours last night, hearing his words over and over in her head. _If you had any idea how crazy you make me, maybe I'd feel a little more sorry for you._ "You never answered me last night."

He lifted his head, and she could tell from the rigid line of his shoulders he was debating whether to answer her now or deflect again. "I didn't want to."

"I know. I just wanted to say . . . I'm sorry." That drew his attention, and another searching look that made her breath catch. Sometimes it felt like he could see through all of her defenses when he looked at her like that; like even though he'd only ever known her as she was now - white-haired and devastated - he could somehow also see past her, deep down to the River she'd lost with the rest of her family. It was an impossible, bizarre feeling, but the impression stuck with her, made her words feel clumsy and awkward on her tongue. "I didn't know what you've been through . . . and looking back, I realized I've been . . . inconsiderate."

He surprised her by laughing. Here she was - River _Proud Mary_ Bautista, mortal enemy of contrition - _apologizing_ to him and the scrawny, insolent motherfucker was laughing at her. But the sound was so dangerously compelling, it was doing funny things to her anger, dulling the edges, wearing it down to a harmless, maybe even fond irritation. "That's one way to put it."

"I mean it, you brat, so _listen_ ," she snapped.

His eyes widened, and he fell silent, waiting for her to speak with astonishment and heat in his gaze. _Huh. That's interesting_.

"I couldn't bear it if I pushed you away with something I did. I'm gonna be straightforward with you and say I like the way things are now, and possibly where they're headed, too. But no matter how things end up between us, I care about you, and I don't want to lose you." She smiled, then, candidly, at the surprise on his face that morphed into determination as she spoke. "You are the best thing to happen to me in a very, very long time."

MacCready stepped closer, and this time she let him. Something in her sang like music, louder and more beautiful the nearer he drew. She didn't think she'd ever get to feel things like this again, the thrill that ran down her spine when he reached up to brush a stray lock of white hair over her shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that," he promised her. "I know I tend to be a pain in the as- I mean, I know I tend to be arrogant, or come off like I want to be alone, but . . . nothing could be further from the truth. Ever since Lucy died, being alone scares the hell out of me."

River leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "MacCready -"

His hand, coarse and calloused and suddenly rather bold, drifted up over her throat to the base of her scalp, where his fingers threaded into her hair. "It's made me realize how much I missed having someone to depend on."

Her lips parted, and she could feel a moan building on the back of her tongue. His hands on her were the closest thing she'd ever felt to divine. She was too ravenous, too weak to resist such temptation.

He seemed to remember himself and took a deep breath, dropping his hand back to his side. "I just want you to know I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure things stay this way."

"Exactly this way?" she repeated on a whisper, lifting her head to peer up at him through her lashes. "Not . . . closer?"

Amusement was the first thing she recognized in his expression, wrestling with frustration, and that heart-wrenching hint of bashful disbelief. "Well . . ." he said finally, his lips tugging up into that smirk that was so utterly him, an appealing combination of alluring and allured. "Maybe a little closer."

_Dear lord, this twenty-year-old is tearing me apart at the seams._ She laughed breathlessly and took a step back, her cheeks feeling warm. "Listen, I've gotta go see the guys and tell them we're leaving, but, um . . . a rain check, maybe, on this conversation."

MacCready watched her go, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a faint smile. "I'll try to make myself available."

River forced herself to turn away from him and start walking down the hallway, placing one reluctant foot in front of the other until she'd put some distance between them and she could think straight again. She needed a good meal and a good night of sleep, a break from the violence and the suffering. Then maybe she could figure out what the hell to do about MacCready.

* * *

 "You're leaving already?" Valentine asked, the ridge of his eyebrows disappearing up under his hat.

River sipped her coffee, grimacing when it burned her tongue. "I'm needed for a Minuteman project, and I'd like to sleep in my own bed for once. Besides, I'll need to start gathering supplies soon no matter how I intend to make it to Virgil."

"Nicky and I have been talking about that," Hancock began casually. "You're gonna need all the help you can get for that hike. We're both rad-proof, and the two of us could keep you safe from any nasty surprises you might run into in the glowing sea."

River glanced back and forth between their carefully stoic faces, her eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare. "You're offering to come with me?"

"One escort into hell on earth, at your service," Nick joked dryly.

"Why?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm a nobody just looking for my son. You guys have an agency and a town to run. I don't want to have to drag anybody into the glowing sea with me. . ."

"You are most certainly not a nobody, I promise you that," Nick said gently. "Either way, you're my client. It's my job to help you find him."

"And the mayor's still the mayor whether he's in residence or not," Hancock added. "I've been livin' comfy for too long anyways. I need to get back out there, mix it up in the dirt a little."

"Besides, you can't exactly take the kid, unless you got an extra suit of power armor lyin' around."

River's brows pushed down apprehensively. "I hadn't thought about that . . . I suppose you're right." She would have to worry about that later. "I don't know what to say except thank you. When the time comes, I'll probably need all the help I can get."

Hancock shot her a wolfish grin. "That's more like it. You say the word and we're there."

"Thank you." She gave them both a hug, ignoring Hancock's dark curl of laughter. "For everything."

"We'll see you around, toots. You tell MacCready to treat you nice, or we're gonna be having some words."

"I can handle MacCready," she assured him with a smile. She passed Fahrenheit on her way out, who trailed curiously in her direction.

"Heard the gunners at the interchange have mysteriously gone quiet," the redhead remarked off-handedly. "Winlock was a tough son of a bitch. I have to admit, I didn't think you had it in you. You're like a soft, little kitten." She touched a lock of River's hair and smirked. "But you've got some claws in you, don't you?"

River took a step back, smiling easily. "Me? I'm harmless."

Her eyes flashed, predatory and amused. "Cute. But I'm not falling for the helpless act."

Flushing pink, River pushed open the state house door. "I'll see you soon, Fahrenheit."

"I certainly hope so."

MacCready was waiting for her outside, leaning up against the state house wall. "Hey. Everything all right?"

River blinked up at him. "Just Fahrenheit being . . . Fahrenheit."

"Oh, yeah, she's the latest addition to your fan club," he said, laughing.

"I thought she didn't like me."

"She didn't, and then she heard about the whole slaughtered-your-way-through-thirty-gunners thing, and . . . well, I don't want to call it a violence _fetish_ , but -"

"And what exactly do you mean by my fan club?"

MacCready shot her an incredulous look. "Oh, I dunno - how 'bout the mayor who won't let you pay for anything in his town? Or the detective who let some doctor put a piece of Kellogg's brain into his head. And now Fahrenheit, who hasn't stopped giving me death glares since we got back."

"Well, I seem to be a magnet for fucking trouble. I need all the friends I can get out here."

He searched her face for a moment, then finally smiled to himself. "Can't argue with that."

"You ready to go or not?"

"First thing's first." He pulled the strap of a rifle down from his shoulder, and she realized belatedly that he'd been holding two. He held the gun out to her and nodded when she took hold of it. "This is a sniper rifle. You use it to kill things from far away so you don't get blood in your hair, and I won't need to keep pulling bullets out of you."

She stared down at the gun in her hands, her lips curling slowly into a smile. When her eyes drifted back up to meet his, they were warm with admiration. "Thank you."

He shrugged, the hint of a smirk on his face. "They were your caps."

"You are such a brat." River leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. Let's hit the road."

* * *

 The radstorm had been brewing ominously off in the distance for the past hour of their journey, and they barely made it to Graygarden by the time it rolled in, filling the Commonwealth sky with gusts of rain and an eerie, emerald glow.

Supervisor White pointed them in the direction of a mid-sized tool shed behind the greenhouse. It was cramped and musty, but the roof was solid and it would provide semi-decent protection from the storm raging outside. River ducked inside with a weary sigh, and MacCready stepped in after her, pulling the door closed behind himself and casting them into complete darkness.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the rain pouring down on the wooden roof over their heads, their quiet breathing in the enclosed space, the occasional series of ticks from her Pip-Boy's Geiger counter. River rummaged around through the pockets of her bag for some rad-x and they both took a dose, passing a can of purified water back and forth to wash it down.

"How long do these things last?" she asked, her voice quiet and hushed under the falling rain.

"Depends. Could be twenty minutes. Could be two hours."

She buried her face in her hands, shoulders slumped. "I just wanted to go _home_."

"Are you crying?"

"I'm sorry. It's stupid. I'm just so _tired_."

MacCready shifted closer, shoving a crate out of the way so he could sit down next to her. She curled up against his side, and his hand drifted to the small of her back, tracing soothing circles there with his palm. He'd forgotten the physical comfort of having someone so close, and River was so small, so slender and soft - it felt _right_ holding her like this, easing her pains.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "God, what are you, like, twenty years old? A crying woman must be your absolute nightmare."

"Twenty-two, actually, so . . . y'know, only slightly emotionally repressed."

River muffled her laughter into his coat. "That's good to hear."

"Seriously, though, I know what you're going through. It's not easy. And . . ." He paused, his fingers growing still at her waist. "You shouldn't have to go through it alone."

"Careful, MacCready," she warned him with a coy smile. "I might just take you up on that."

"I know." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "That's the part that scares me."

She nodded in absent agreement.

Another moment of silence stretched on between them, interrupted only by the occasional rustling of wet clothes as they tried to press closer together and preserve what little heat was possible in a tool shed in the middle of a storm.

"You know what's funny?" she murmured to break the silence, gathering his hand up in hers and weaving their fingers together. "Nate told me something like that once. He was a soldier, and . . . one day he brought up the whole _what if I don't come home someday_ talk. I thought he was being an asshole. I didn't want to talk about it." She made a small noise, something like laughter but not quite. "He told me if something were to happen to him, he didn't want me to be alone. I got so _mad_ when he mentioned it. We were twenty-five, and I thought we were invincible. I didn't want to think about losing him. But he just . . . laughed, like every time I got worked up. He said I have a lover's heart. That I would grieve for him and then one day I'd meet a guy who made me laugh, and I wouldn't be able to help myself."

MacCready held his breath to hear her voice over the howling winds and his heartbeat, slamming away in his chest. "River . . ."

"I mean, Nate was _always right_ ," she went on faintly. "I'm no good on my own. I get so . . ."

"Moody?"

"That's one way to put it." She repeated his words with a dry laugh. "I don't know. I thought I would spend the rest of my life grieving him. It's been only three months, but . . ." She shrugged, her smile turning wistful. "I guess I wish he could've gotten that one last _I told you so_ in. He deserved it."

"Ugh, Lucy's four favorite words," MacCready complained. "I made an idiot out of myself pretty much every other day, so I got them all the time."

"Why am I not surprised?"

He leaned his head against hers, and she closed her eyes, savoring his warmth beside her, the weight of his hand in her lap.

"Is she the one you made a promise to? To be a better person?"

He snorted. "No, she wouldn't have believed me for a second. It was our son, Duncan. He's still young enough to have a little faith."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, hiding her tears in the crook of his neck. "It must be hard to be away from him."

He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want these feelings coming out and shattering the warm safety of their tiny, desolate sanctuary; but her hands were so tender on him and her voice was like velvet and silk, so gentle he almost couldn't feel the hurt anymore. "It is," he confessed finally. "Gets harder every day, but I'm looking for something he needs, and I can't go back until I find it."

River pulled away to meet his gaze, her eyes wide with dismay. "MacCready," she said sternly, sounding almost offended. "If you tell me what he needs, I promise I'll do everything I possibly can to help your son."

He caught her face in his hands, searched the resolve burning him to pieces in the ocher of her eyes. _So ready to drop everything and help me. . ._ "Duncan came down with something - Leah's taken him to every doctor in the Capital Wasteland and nobody knows how to help. One day he's playing out in the fields behind our farm . . . the next he took a fever and these blue boils showed up all over his body." He swallowed down the panic that always crept up whenever he thought of his son. It was easier to control, with River warm and safe in his arms. "When I left he was almost too weak to walk. I didn't dare try to bring him with me. . . . Honestly, I don't know how much longer he has."

"Do you have any leads?"

He ducked his head against her shoulder, willing himself to wake up if this was a dream. People like him didn't get this lucky. This woman was pre-war perfection incarnate, had just spent a week slaughtering her way through gangsters and mercenaries, watched her husband die for the second time yesterday, and yet she sounded ready to storm into whatever unknown horrors lurked ahead to help him out yet again. Was it stupid or just fucking crazy to feel something like hope again? "Only one, and it's just a rumor. I met a guy named Sinclair who said his buddy had the same disease. They heard there might be a cure at Med-Tek Research, even managed to get the building's lockdown codes, but . . . his friend died before they could try to break in."

River covered one of his hands with her own, her eyes hard with determination. "We'll get to Sanctuary and regroup, and then we'll head to Med-Tek right away."

"You've already done so much for me," he murmured regretfully. "The place is infested with ferals. It's not gonna be easy."

She smirked, a sliver of white teeth that sent chills down his spine. "Good thing I hired the best merc in the Commonwealth."

It all happened quickly after that; thinking back later, he could map out the progression of his thoughts from _This woman is going to save my son_ to how soft the skin of her face felt in his hands and the shape of her lips, calling to him through the darkness. He heard her sharp little intake of breath as he leaned in, and then he kissed her, a hard, hungry press of lips that had her gasping and breathless in seconds. It felt like coming alive, kissing River like this, feeling her lips part and sigh beneath his and hearing all the soft, needy sounds she made. Her tongue stroked the curve of his bottom lip and he shuddered against her, rumbling out some strangled, eager noise he'd never made before in his life.

When they broke apart, she was short of breath, pressing her fingers to her swollen lips. MacCready tilted his forehead down against hers and laughed under his breath. "Oh, man. That was even better than I thought it'd be."

River hummed, a soft and satisfied little noise. "I haven't been kissed in a very long time." Her laughter was throaty and fucking divine. "And I don't know that I've ever been kissed quite like that before."

"I aim to please," he teased, smirking, and her laughter went on and on, warmer now, and temptingly sweet. He wanted to drink it down from the source, until he would taste her always on the back of his tongue. "I'm in over my head, aren't I?"

"Yes," she agreed with an easy smile. "But I can be patient, and very, very generous."

He wasn't sure he deserved her patience _or_ her generosity, but the selfish parts of him - a fair majority, he'd be willing to admit, the erection straining in his pants definitely included - were no longer concerned with what he did or didn't deserve. For now, he had River - soft, sweet River with her laughter that sang redemption, who looked at him like he _meant_ something with such conviction he was starting to believe it himself.

"What you're doing for me . . . no one's ever cared that much about me before. I'll find a way to repay you, even if it takes the rest of my life."

_Oh, shit, did I just say that? The rest of my fucking_ life _?!_

River's eyes widened, the sultry glow there temporarily disabled by shock. Then she smiled again, to his immense relief. "MacCready," she sighed, dipping her head to kiss him, so soft and tender it made him weak. "You never owe me a thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ River loved that. ]


	13. Symmetry

MacCready didn't like the way the scales were weighing out between him and River. They'd fucked up the lines separating mercenary and employer already, he was just starting to get used to that, and then she'd gone and given him a house. (A fucking _house,_ just for him - MacCready, one of fourteen siblings, who shared everything he'd ever owned in his entire life.) She helped him hunt down the gunners, and now saving her son had somehow transitioned into saving his and the list of shit he owed her just kept getting longer and longer.

Probably shouldn't have kissed her with all of that going on, looking back now, but _act first, think later_ seemed to be his style lately and apparently he was making a policy of it. After a week of trying to shut out everything new he leaned about River, he'd _kissed her_ , and now he knew what her lips felt like parting and sighing under his, could remember her whiny little noises in torturously crisp detail, like she couldn't get enough of him. He was up half the night just thinking about it. She was going to tear him open and bury herself so deep into his heart he'd never be able to get her back out. He supposed if he left after they made it through Med-Tek, he _might_ be able to interrupt the process, maybe even forget about her, some months or - _let's be honest here_ \- years down the line.

But he wasn't a particularly strong man. Resilient, yes. You could tear RJ MacCready down to his foundations and he'd find a way to build himself back up. But strong? Strong enough to pull himself out of River's orbit and leave her? Strong enough not to think about her, out in the wastes with only Dogmeat to protect her, lost and alone and looking for her son. . . .

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ He couldn't voice the word, but it felt good to think it, at least, in the safety of his own mind, where he could grudgingly admit that he was falling for her at such an intense velocity, he worried what might happen when he hit the bottom. Maybe there was no bottom with River. Maybe you just loved her harder and harder until the day you died. Terrified or not - and he definitely _was_ \- he knew leaving wasn't really an option. He was going to ride this one out even if it ended in ruin, and he might be irreversibly shattered afterwards, but at least he might have Duncan's cure. His son could grow up healthy and happy . . . he should probably go to someone else for advice about romance, but they could cross that road when they came to it.

MacCready's life was a patchwork quilt of fuck-ups and second tries. When he was younger, he had Leah and Charon to drag him out of all the deeper shit he'd managed to get himself into, and then it was Lucy, who would have gone to the ends of the earth for him. For a while there, he'd started to feel like a good person. Like someone worthy of that kind of devotion. A husband. A father.

He hadn't felt like that in a very long time. Three years didn't seem like much, maybe, not when Charon lived through two hundred years of slavery, the two hundred years River spent sleeping, sealed up tight underground. But grief had a funny way of stretching out time, making every second pull like tension in his bones. He'd been trapped under the weight of his own suffering, too bent and broken to heal straight, and being around River felt like . . . release.

Kissing her was another beast entirely - something otherworldly - it was absolution, it was resurrection, it was deliverance and a thousand other things he hadn't known you could feel about a kiss. 

_MacCready_. And the gentle press of her lips, like she could taste the edge of his wounds and wanted to soothe them through that tender touch. _You never owe me a thing._

The scales tipped a little further.

* * *

River kicked her boots up onto her desk, scanning the reports Preston's recon team had brought back from the Castle. "Mirelurks, huh? Doesn't sound so bad."

"Rodriguez called it a _mirelurk_ _infestation_ when I asked him for his personal account. And a few other words before that I won't repeat."

Her eyes flickered up from the papers in her hands to the easy smile on Preston's face. Her second-in-command was an undeniably handsome man, honest and brave and _good_ , good down to the bones in his body. He'd been her savior, the saint who helped her save Sanctuary. So why didn't _he_ ever show up in her dreams? He'd be an easy man to love, she figured, but there was no heat there, no thirst that ached in the pit of her gut, wanting like a sickness, growing towards needing. Probably for the best. Preston sure as hell didn't need someone like her in his life anyways.

He went on, seemingly unaware of her selfish, personal assessments. "That many 'lurks, I wouldn't be surprised if there's a queen hiding out somewhere in the area."

She lowered her gaze, realizing with warm cheeks that she'd been staring at him. "I've never seen a mirelurk queen."

"That's a good thing," he remarked gravely. "They're big, and mean, and they don't like anybody messing around with their nest. You might want to have Sturges take another look at your power armor for this one."

"Shit. I forgot." River glanced back up at him sheepishly. "I, uh . . . may have left it at the turnpike. . . ."

"The turnpike?" His dark brows lifted in surprise. "That's gunner territory. . . This wouldn't have anything to do with that merc, would it?"

She waved the thought away. "Just some spring cleaning. But the suit took some damage in the fight, so I left it there. The gunners had a set, too. If we have the men to spare to retrieve them, Sturges can get started right away."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Preston agreed after a thoughtful pause.

"We left the place in ruins. I'd be surprised if they run into any trouble, but if they do, play it safe and have them come home. MacCready and I can go back and get them ourselves if we need to."

"Understood."

"Let's give Sturges a chance to take a look at the power armor before we move on the Castle. It'll give me some time to take care of a few things. Then I promise you, we'll get the Minutemen back inside the Castle walls where they belong."

"Looking forward to it, general." He cleared his throat, his face softening into a look of concern. "How're things going in the search?" he asked tentatively.

"One step forward, two steps back, as usual. But there's reason to hope, if anything. The fight isn't over yet."

"It never seems to be, with you." He spoke the words with a warm sort of compassion, more on the side of affection than pity.

"You chose a problematic general," she teased him back.

"I chose the right one. I've never doubted that."

River smiled her appreciation. It really wasn't fair; Preston Garvey deserved a thousand times better than living in this shithole world. Maybe if they'd had more people like him back then, they could have avoided a little of all the tragedy. "Thank you, Preston."

"Ma'am."

And then he left her alone with her thoughts, the sound of a radio playing somewhere nearby, a cigarette she pulled out and lit with absent hands. It wasn't until the smoke hit her tongue that she realized she'd even done it. She looked down at it between her fingers with surprise and set it aside in the ashtray on her desk, still smoking. Somewhere down the street, Sturges was overseeing the reconstruction of one of the houses, and suddenly she was far too aware of the fact that she hadn't been able to escape the sound of banging hammers all day.

"Not gonna finish that?"

River yelped and jumped away from where MacCready was leaning in through her window. "Jesus, MacCready," she complained, putting a hand to her racing heart. "You're gonna lose an eye doing that."

"Maybe." He reached in to claim the cigarette still burning in her ashtray. "Think I could pull off an eye patch?"

She leaned back in her chair and studied the lines of his face, lips twisting up into a smile. "Definitely. But don't snipers need both eyes?"

"Usually, yeah." A lazy shrug, a puff of smoke, the memory of his hands framing her face and his mouth on hers like a twist of heat, deep in her belly. "Sometimes style is sacrifice."

"Believe me, I'm aware." River tried not to laugh, but being around him was so easy, like nothing else in her life ever seemed to be anymore.

"So . . . you done being general for the day?"

"I am. In fact, I was just about to take Dogmeat for a walk. Wanna come?"

The dog's head perked up at the sound of his name. MacCready heaved a disinterested sigh, pushing off the window sill to stretch his arms. "I guess somebody should keep an eye on you."

River smiled. "Wouldn't have anyone else for the job."

* * *

 Dogmeat charged a few paces ahead of them, glancing back impatiently when they moved too slowly for his liking. MacCready wanted to shrug at him. Wasn't his fault every damn person they passed wanted to smile and shake River's hand. She clearly wasn't into it, he could tell from the smile on her face. Not that it wasn't convincing, because it was - like all things River, it was polished and practiced and exactly what she wanted it to be - it just wasn't _her_ smile, and damn him for knowing the difference.

Dogmeat started to veer left, toward the entrance to town, but River whistled to call him back. She nodded toward a dirt path in the opposite direction, between two houses near the end of the block. "This way, boy." It only took him a few moments to come careening past them to take the lead, pausing to sniff at any curious scents that hit his nose.

They crossed a narrow wooden bridge, a thin arm of the river babbling underfoot. The wide expanse of a Vault-Tec billboard came into view as they followed the path uphill. He tried not to scowl at the sight of the bright, jarring colors, still eerie even faded and peeling. "Never could stand those old Vault-Tec ads. They give me the creeps."

River nodded in absent agreement. "I never liked it either. I promise you, nobody looked like that when it happened." Her voice grew fainter with each word, but she kept walking. Dogmeat wove his way around a few bundles of clothing up ahead and disappeared through a metal fence. When they drew nearer, MacCready realized they were skeletons, some still held together by threadbare dresses and suits. River paused for only a moment, her fingers twitching - _Did she know them? Is she thinking of their faces?_ \- then stepped carefully over the bones to follow after Dogmeat.

There was a set of small trailers at the top of the hill, a flew blown-out cars, a crane whose hook swayed ominously in the light breeze. River kicked debris out of the way with a sweep of her boot and marched determinedly up onto a circular platform, her footsteps ringing sharply on the metal surface.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, MacCready followed. Even through the rust and faded paint, the sharp white letters VAULT 111 were plainly visible. For a fleeting, terrifying second, he imagined the vault yawning open beneath his feet, falling through the darkness into the echoing catacombs where River had slept for two centuries. And it struck him in that moment that she hadn't just lost a husband, and a son, she'd lost all of her family and friends - everyone she'd ever known in her entire life except for her son and the fucking Vault-Tec guy were now just ashes and memories. 

River stared out over Sanctuary, squinting against the harsh light of the sun like a challenge. Back to the place where she had lost everything, and she was gonna face down the fucking sun if she had to.

MacCready fought the sudden urge to kiss her again.

She glanced up at him, a smile lingering on her face. "Thanks for coming up here with me."

"It's not weird for you, being here again?"

"I don't know. I used to have nightmares about this place. We barely made it down in time when the bombs fell, and then when I woke back up . . . I'll never forget what it was like, seeing everything like this for the first time." She shrugged, a slow roll of her thin shoulders, and she looked so beautiful, so very small, a tiny dwarf star who sucked him up into her orbit. "I should have died a thousand times since then, and things are just going to get harder."

MacCready reached up to trace the waves of her braid with his fingertips. "I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you." It was a promise, but it felt deeper, an intrinsic truth, the result of far too much suffering in far too little time. He wouldn't survive losing someone else he cared about.

River smiled at him, her eyes dark and delighted under heavy lids. She stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, gently at first, fingers curling around the lapels of his coat to tug him closer. When his hands slid around her waist, she murmured a small, satisfied noise and nipped softly at his bottom lip. He felt her fingers sliding into his hair, tugging lightly, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. His skin was flushed and overheated, he could feel every inch of her body against his and still it wasn't _close enough_. He was already painfully hard - didn't take much, with her - and there was no way she didn't notice, but still she pressed closer, trailing soft kisses down his jaw. "What would I do without you?"

He shrugged, feeling her body shake with laughter beneath his hands. "Seems like you were doin' just fine before I came along."

"I was just surviving then." She took one of his hands in hers and kissed the rough skin of his knuckles, held his palm to her cheek. "Things are different now."

 _No kidding._ He traced the curve of her bottom lip with his thumb, blinking when she shuddered in response. _Interesting_. He wasn't really the kind of guy who could make women tremble, and this was _River_.

"MacCreadyyy," she whined, her voice low and needy, that adorable pout on her face.

He paused, struck by a sudden compulsion he couldn't shake. If she was going to be begging, he wanted to hear the real thing. "RJ," he told her determinedly. "It's RJ." And then he watched in fascination as her lips formed around his name and she whispered it back to him. _Yes_. That was right, that was fucking good, he'd like a lot more of that in the immediate future, please and thank you. He kissed her again after that, couldn't help himself, but she didn't seem to mind. It was like a little part of her melted whenever he touched her, and that was really more than a guy like him ever deserved.

River's cheeks and neck were flushed pink when she finally pulled away, and the sight of her swollen lips filled him with masculine pride. She let loose a tempting little laugh. "I don't know if it's just because it's been so long, but you are annoyingly good at that."

"I think you'll find I do a lot of things annoyingly."

"Smooth-talker." She smiled, shaking her head as she turned back for home. "Come on, Dogmeat, let's go!"

The dog appeared from behind a nearby car, tongue lolling out in excitement. He made a beeline for MacCready and licked happily at his hands.

"I swear sometimes he likes you more than me," River accused him teasingly.

"He'd be the only one if he does."

She flashed him a grateful smile, and fuck him, she was actually blushing, so unexpectedly vulnerable and _enticing_ when they were alone like this. How could she make him feel so strong and yet so utterly helpless at the same time?

"Preston's planning sort of a dinner tonight, so I can meet all the new people that have joined up. You don't have to come if you don't want, but I hope you do." Her voice was soft and serene - after all the teasing, she was being _gentle_ with him, like she promised she would. He wasn't sure he had the patience for gentle, but he appreciated the thought. "Thanks for keeping an eye on me."

"Yeah. Anytime."

"Don't make me any promises you can't keep."

 _Never_. The word sat heavy on his tongue, and even if it was true, he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut for once.

He got the feeling she knew it already anyways.

* * *

Preston usually volunteered his home for Minuteman meetings. They'd moved a wonderful old oak table into his living room and lined it with chairs, and River had hung a Minuteman flag along the wall behind it. The whole deal looked very official.

But a new family had shown up at the gate just that morning looking for a place to stay, and two groups of men had returned from patrols, so tonight they would have to improvise. Luckily it was a warm enough night to dine outside. Preston had people gathering picnic tables and setting them up around the tree in the cul-de-sac. Codsworth moved back and forth between his kitchen and the tables, transporting food and pitchers of water. River climbed up into the tree and lined it with string lights that MacCready handed up to her. Wanting him felt extra naughty surrounded by people who looked up to her, but she couldn't help the thrill that ran through her when he wrapped his hand around her bare ankle, holding her steady.

River watched people start to fill up the tables with a wave of pride. Sanctuary Hills had honestly never felt so much like a real community before. She only mourned that Shaun couldn't be here to experience this with her, their old town becoming a home again.

Tonight she wore the Minuteman militia hat, and let her hair fall loose beneath it for once. Preston introduced her - short, sweet, and to the point, and she couldn't have asked for a better second-in-command.

"For those of you who are new around here and haven't had a chance to meet her, this woman right here is General River Bautista. Without her, we wouldn't have established half of the settlements many of you call home. She's the best hope the Minutemen have for a future. With her help, we'll be back inside the Castle walls and helping the rest of the Commonwealth in no time. We can finally do what we've always done. Protect the people at a minute's notice."

Everyone held their drinks up, some even letting out cheers and shouts. River smiled and nodded her thanks, taking a sip of her beer. MacCready chuckled next to her under his breath, and she nudged his foot with her boot.

She recognized most of the faces at their table, and introduced herself and MacCready to those she didn't. The soldier across from them she knew was Ari Bennett, one of Preston's best captains. Dark hair was shaved close to a sunbronzed scalp, and Bennett wore a hungry smile, posture flawlessly straight. "You're gonna flip when you see what I brought you back this time, general," Bennett drawled, pushing an old filing box forward with a broad boot.

River held her beer aloft with one hand so she could flip through the box's contents with the other. Her eyes lit up at all the books crammed into the flimsy cardboard. "My god, I've never seen so many books before!"

"Whoever brings back the most gets a free pass on watch duty," the captain boasted. "Whoever brings back the least pulls a double shift."

MacCready laughed and River shook her head, smiling despite herself. "You're brutal, Bennett."

"Aw, General, come on," Bennett joked, waving her away. "You don't mean that."

"Thank you so much. I might need a new bookcase for these."

"I got you covered on that one, little River, you just let me know," Sturges offered up on her other side with a crooked grin. "By the way, I heard you ditched my baby Rita on an overpass somewhere."

"With regret, after she kept me alive through a nasty gunfight with some gunners."

"Well, that's all she ever wanted." He patted a broad hand between her shoulders. "Glad she got you out in one piece."

"It'll take more than some wimpy gunners to take me down," she promised him. "Once we get Rita back and in fighting shape, she'll help me take back the Castle, too."

The sound of Sturges' laughter was comforting. "I don't doubt it, old school. After I saw you tangle with that deathclaw, I know better than to doubt you."

"A deathclaw, huh?" Bennett leaned forward in interest. "This one I gotta hear."

"It was just a little one," River protested modestly. "Hardly even seven feet tall."

"Honey, I could almost pick you up in the palm of my hand. Seven feet tall is plenty big enough when you're that little."

River launched into the story with a fondness she hadn't felt in a long time. In fact, she'd been something of a misanthrope before the bombs fell. She'd learned over time how to influence the people around her - how to schmooze and flirt and work a room - but she'd never felt so comfortable in a group before, like she belonged among them, and the fact that she could experience something entirely new in this wasteland amazed her.

A few beers later, after dinner had been finished and the tables were startling to clear up, while River nursed a new bottle and let all the food settle, the new couple she'd met earlier came over to her.

"General. . . ." the woman Leslie began.

"Please. Just River," she insisted. "Seriously. If you don't wear the hat, you don't need to call me that."

Her husband smiled, she couldn't quite remember his name, but she remembered their infant daughter Millie well enough - chubby olive cheeks and a shock of dark hair clinging to the middle of her scalp. "We can't thank you enough for giving us a place to live."

"It's nothing. The Minutemen are here to help."

Leslie pressed a handful of stimpaks into River's hands. "Yesterday, we had _nothing_. Today, our daughter has a home. We can never thank you enough."

River didn't feel the tears until they brimmed over and slid warm down her cheek. "Welcome to Sanctuary," she told them with a smile.

After being shooed off for the fifth time by Bennett and Preston, River finally stopped trying to help clean up and headed for home. She stopped outside of MacCready's place to pick up the suitcase she'd packed and left for herself there.

"What's that?" he demanded, jabbing the index finger wrapped around his beer down at her bag.

"My stuff. I gave that family my house."

"You gave - what?!" He took a step back, holding his hands out as if to steady himself. "You gave 'em your _house_?"

"It's too big for just me, and they had a baby and Shaun's too old for his crib now anyways, so I thought, they needed it more than I do." She shrugged, meeting the confusion in the blue of his gaze. "Don't worry, I didn't give away your place. I gave you that for keeps."

"Where are you gonna sleep?"

"At the truck stop. I spend half my nights there anyways, and it's honestly ten times quieter."

MacCready searched her face, like he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to let her do that or not. They both knew he wouldn't stop her, if that's what she really wanted, but she was a little interested to see him try.

"I'll walk you over," he offered finally, concession in his tone. He took the suitcase from her hands and nodded down the street for her to lead the way.

It was a quiet walk to the truck stop. The Minutemen standing guard greeted her when they passed the gates out of town. When they got to the gas station, she opened the sliding door leading into the garage and leaned against the doorway.

MacCready hovered just outside, his expression hard to read in the darkness. "You sure it's safe for you to stay out here alone?" he asked, his voice low with concern.

"Normally Dogmeat's here too, but I think I saw him heading in with Mama Murphy tonight," she admitted. "The turrets run all night, though, and Sturges set 'em up all over."

"Hmn." He peered over her head into the garage, then out into the darkness around them, obviously dissatisfied.

River traced his collar with her fingertip. "I guess you could always stay, if you're worried," she murmured, glancing up at him through her lashes. "Keep an eye on me?"

The conflict raged clear as day across his face, his eyes lingering on the shape of her lips when she smiled. One side of him must have eventually won out, although he never really agreed out loud, just followed her wordlessly into the garage. He settled onto her couch much like their arrangement at the Dugout, kicking his boots off and shrugging out of his jacket. She felt a twinge of embarrassment at the chaotic state of the place - books covering nearly every open surface, weapons and armor in various stages of disassembly on her workbench - but something about his expression suggested he didn't mind messy.

She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, breathing a sigh when his thumb brushed the length of her cheekbone. "G'night, RJ."

He made some satisfied noise deep in his throat at the sound of his name. "Night, River."

The mattress was heavenly when she finally crawled onto it and underneath the cool sheets. She was still warm and content from the beer and good food, her thoughts full of MacCready and his promises to keep her safe, the all-consuming heat that his kisses ignited in her, the comforting weight of his presence watching over her, lulling her to sleep.

Her dreams started easy at first, splotches of faded color, blues and reds and golds that swept her along like a gentle current before the images grew more vivid. Nate's pale skin, eyes sunken from sleeping too long, his hands cold and freezing as he reached for her. Kellogg - busted and broken, his blood pooling around her feet, and then Shaun, Shaun without a mother, crying out for her, alone and so, so lost. His absence was slowly filling up her lungs and suffocating her, and the _time is running out, time is running out, time is running out -_

River sat up, her heart racing in her chest. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to ignore the helpless panic that moved through her like ice water.

* * *

MacCready jolted awake at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, reaching instinctively for his rifle on the ground. It was River, kneeling in front of him, eyes round and wet with tears. "I'm sorry to wake you up."

"River?" He rubbed at his face, willing himself to wake up fully. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"I . . ." She hesitated, eyes downcast in embarrassment. "I just . . . can't be alone right now," she confessed finally, forcing the words out seemingly through her teeth. Her voice was so small and so fucking broken, like she was barely holding herself together by a thread, and the instinct to protect her from that pain tore through him like a wildfire. MacCready shifted closer to the back of the couch to make room for her and River wasted no time curling up into the circle of his arms.

MacCready ducked his face against her shoulder, breathing in the comforting smell of vanilla, mixed with some of the beer she'd spilled earlier and the faint salt of sweat. Her trembling eased in his embrace, her shallow breaths eventually evening out into a slow, languid tempo. He remembered the nightmares that had haunted him after Lucy's death with brutal clarity. He couldn't protect River from hers, but at least he could be there to ease her through the aftermath.

"Thank you," she whispered into the crook of his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it." His fingers wound gently through her hair. "I get it."

River yawned, pressed a tired kiss to his jaw, toeing the line of sleep. He listened to her breathing until long after she'd fallen asleep, hopefully into easier dreams now that she wasn't alone.

MacCready thought it was hopeless back when River was all mystery and sultry promises, but _this_ , bearing her wounds to him like he of all people would know how to stitch them back up was so foolish and so damn endearing. . . .

He didn't stand a fucking chance.


	14. Dull Aches

River left the truck stop under Codsworth's meticulous care. After beseeching MacCready to keep her safe - _Quit worrying, Codsworth, you're gonna blow a fuse or something._ \- the Mr. Handy waved them off, voice high and chipper at the prospect of somewhere new to look after.

They walked in a comfortable, if pointed silence; it felt too safe and familiar to break, though she could feel his gaze on her back. The warmth of his arms lingered on in her like a flame, the gruff reluctance with which he'd let her go early this morning. It was a heat she could easily grow to depend on, in a world like this one. She wondered what, if anything, he wanted from her in return.

"So are you ever gonna ask me, or are you just gonna keep staring?" She glanced at him over her shoulder, catching his eyes on her hair as she'd suspected.

MacCready shrugged, unrepentant. "Probably just keep staring."

Her lips tipped up into a devious smile. "I won't tell you, then. If only to keep you interested."

He looked away, chuckling under his breath. "Whatever you say, River." It was unfair the things his voice did to her name, twisted the two syllables into something sinful and secret, made her greedy and feverish for more. And it was always River now, never _boss_ , and she wondered if it was a conscious transition he'd made or something that just happened naturally. She certainly didn't _feel_ like his boss anymore, at least not in any official way - she'd be lying if she said she hadn't entertained thoughts of bossing him around under other circumstances. She adored his lazy defiance, the sharp bite of his wit, amusing, tempting little pieces of him she wanted to watch crumble into a mess of boneless pleasure.

She'd promised him patience. It wasn't a virtue she had much of, but she _liked_ MacCready - grumpy, unwitting MacCready who was unwinding all of the hurt and the shame and weaving himself into the breaks they left behind. The world had fucked him over time and time again and she refused to make his life any harder than it needed to be - even if it killed her, even as she _ached_ and _burned_ and dreamed of his hands on her skin, she'd suffer in that flame forever before she pushed him into anything. He wasn't just the man who haunted her dreams, he was the best friend she had out in this shithole of a world and that meant more than the stubborn, insatiable hunger that gnawed at the pit of her belly.

They walked for miles as the sun inched across the sky above them. River prattled on to fill the silence about anything that struck her mind, wondering every now and then if she wasn't bothering him, but whenever she was quiet for more than a few minutes, he would throw out a question to get her started again. She spoke of her hobbies, her job, old flings and adventures, back when she was still riding the freedom of her youth. Occasionally he laughed, or teased her, his tone more fond than anything else, but mostly he just listened, probing with further questions whenever he couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer.

By the time they decided to find a place to rest, MacCready probably could've penned a short biography of her pre-war life if he cared to, could've even thrown in a few self-deprecating quotes straight from the source in defense of some of her more foolish mishaps. He knelt down to take a look at the boathouse they were approaching through his scope.

"Bloodbugs," he reported dismissively.

River tried to tame the scowl that darkened her expression.

Too late; he laughed. "What's that look for?"

"I hate bloodbugs," she admitted in a quiet voice. "I remember when bugs used to be smaller than me."

"Not much smaller than you out here anymore." He put a comforting hand on her knee and grinned up at her. "Stand aside, little lady. I'll handle the big, mean bloodbugs."

She smiled, watching in interest as he picked them off one by one. His hands were never more certain than when they were wrapped around that rifle; there was an easy confidence there, the arrogance that was as much a part of him as the grief they shared. He sank every shot, like he _knew he would_ , and she barely restrained a sigh when she felt the responding heat like tension in her gut. _Yeah, body, I get it. We're pickin' up what he's puttin' down. Let's just add_ _sniping-every-enemy-that-stands-in-my-way to the list of things that turn me on, and we can all get along with our day._

MacCready got to his feet, reloading his rifle with practiced ease. She wished his hands weren't so distracting. "There's probably a few more inside I can't see."

"Well, we can test out the new toy Sturges sent me off with." She pulled the shotgun from her bag, beaming in excitement.

MacCready eyed the weapon warily. "Should I even ask?"

"From what he told me, this thing should speak for itself. Also, I would suggest staying behind me. Like way behind me."

He trailed a cautious few paces back as they neared the boathouse. A wraparound dock hugged the perimeter of the building, and a covered garage that opened up to the water. The incessant buzz of bloodbug wings hit her ears when she yanked open the front door. She aimed the shotgun at the bug floating there in the living room. Pulling the trigger launched an explosive round at the bloodbug that shredded it into pieces, leaving viscera and scorch marks behind and launching River backwards into MacCready.

"Holy shit!" she gasped as he steadied her, her ears ringing from the deafening blast. Two more bloodbugs came flying down the staircase and she blasted them both with one last booming shot. Her shoulder was definitely going to bruise, and her hearing would probably never be as good as it used to be, but the place was cleared, and they had a safe place to rest for a while.

The roof of the house had mostly been blown away, so they curled up together in the kitchen downstairs, sharing a can of water and a Nuka Cola, the radio piping out softly from River's Pip-Boy.

"Med-Tek shouldn't be much farther," MacCready said, casting his eyes around the room. "I remember this place."

"You've been there before?"

He nodded, tracing the rim of the cola bottle with his thumb. "Twice. Both times, the ferals chased me off." His hand found hers between them and curled around the slender column of her wrist. "Half of me still feels crazy for even bringing you out here."

"Hey." River pressed her fingertips to the line of his jaw, felt the tension there beneath his skin. "You and me together are a force to be reckoned with. Nobody who stood in our way ever lived long enough to regret it." She smiled when he leaned into her touch. "Besides, you made me a promise."

"Meant it, too." His hand cradled hers, warm and rough, holding her palm to his face as he smirked. "Like a total chump."

"Lucky me." She hesitated, if only to savor the thrill of anticipation that ran through her. Kissing him was still so new - it made her feel alive and enamored, the long-lost, familiar excitement of her younger, foolhardier days. He buried a hand in her hair, running his fingers through the soft tresses and smiling at the pleased sigh it drew out of her. His mouth was rough when he kissed her, teeth and tongue too eager for tenderness, and his impatience stirred something heated and primal within her. His kisses were precious, captivating, she would hold every single one dear to her heart always, but pretty soon they were not going to be enough to sate the hungers they ignited.

"RJ," she breathed, her voice half pleading. His lips grew softer against hers, gentle, lingering kisses that pulled mercilessly at the strings of her heart. She shifted closer, her thighs parting around the slope of his leg.

He ducked his head against her shoulder, muffling a strangled laugh there. "Sorry. That's, uh . . . god, that's _really nice_. It's just been a while."

River curled up into the crook of his arm, where he cradled her against his side - a strange and satisfying sensation, finding a place where she fit perfectly after being lost for so long. "For you and me both." Her eyes slipped closed, and she couldn't help a smile when she felt his lips at the crown of her head. "This isn't really the right setting for that conversation."

"Probably not." He nuzzled his face into her throat, beard and stubble scraping sensitive skin, and she hadn't expected him to be so affectionate - like he'd missed touching as much as she'd missed being touched. One of his hands threaded into her hair, calloused fingertips dragging down the nape of her neck that made her shudder.

She scowled, trying to suppress another shiver. "You are making it very difficult to be good."

MacCready lifted his head, blinking in surprise. Then his mouth stretched into a triumphant grin, mischief in the blue of his eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

River laughed softly. "RJ, I haven't been fucked in two hundred years. That's a long time for a woman with needs like mine."

"Yeah," he agreed in a parched voice, on the edge of breathless, his normal sarcasm apparently disabled for the time being. "I, uh . . . I guess it would be."

She leaned in to press a kiss to the edge of his lips before rising to her feet. "Come on, handsome. Let's go get that cure."

And then MacCready gave her _that look_ , the one that made her feel whole again, and she wanted to wrap herself up in the warmth of that gaze and stay there forever. He caught her hand and held onto it, tighter when she didn't pull away.

"You lead and I'll follow," River promised.

* * *

MacCready cleared out the ferals ambling aimlessly around the front of the research facility with swift, deliberate headshots. River wrinkled her nose in distaste as she stepped over their corpses. She could never bring herself to bother looting them - they gave her flashbacks to old zombie flicks that had given her nightmares. The less time she spent looking at them, the better.

"Hey," MacCready interjected hesitantly when she reached for the door, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Hold on a sec?"

River paused, falling back at the resolved look on his face. "Of course. What's up?"

"Before we go in there. . . ." He sighed, his voice hard with frustration, seemed to be pulling each word out of himself with great difficulty. "The night I lost Lucy, we were holed up in a metro station, just until morning. We didn't know the place was infested with ferals." He spoke quietly, the raw and fragile confession of a man who was on a first-name basis with his demons. "They were on her before I could fire a shot. . . . ripped her apart right in front of me. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms."

Her fingers tightened around her rifle with white knuckles, breath shaky as if winded. Her blood went cold at the thought of what he'd been through, what he'd seen - what Kellogg's memories must have reminded him of. She thought back to the easy way he'd welcomed her into his arms last night, because he'd known from experience that's exactly what she'd needed - and she would hold him every night for the rest of their lives to make up for all the time he'd been alone. It was a reckless thought, batshit crazy if she was being honest, but overwhelming in its conviction.

MacCready met her gaze, the blue of his eyes dark and pleading, begging her to understand what he couldn't voice. "Just do me a favor and stay close." The request was hardly louder than a breath, heavy and frayed with pain, and a small part of her grew suddenly aware of the fact that she would burn the whole Commonwealth to the ground to keep him from hurting like this ever again.

River reached over to lace her fingers through his. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised him, giving his hand a squeeze. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, a brief, heady affection that made her melt. "Close is right where I like you."

He laughed, the sound short with disbelief, but it banished that heartbreaking sorrow from his eyes. "Surprise, surprise, River gets what she wants."

"And don't you forget it."

MacCready held the door open for her and they stepped into the dimly lit lobby, their footsteps ringing loudly around the empty room. Medical equipment and various debris littered the floor between them and a receptionist's desk. Over the desk was a faded sign, the letters rusted-over and hardly legible: MED-TEK RESEARCH.

"All right," he said, steeling himself with a determined breath. "Let's find that executive terminal. Sinclair said that's the only way we can override the facility's lockdown."

"Here." River reached into the side pocket of her bag and pulled out Kellogg's pistol. "Your sniper won't be much use in here."

MacCready weighed the gun in his hands, ran his thumb down the polished side and glanced up at her from under the brim of his hat. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

They started their slow search through the building for the executive office. They passed an airlock that led deeper into the facility, sealed up tight from the lockdown. The stairs creaked under their feet when they climbed them to the second floor, where the distant sound of guttural hisses and groans made MacCready stop in the doorway. His first gunshot dropped the nearest ghoul, and the others quickly came lunging toward them. River kept them at bay with her shotgun long enough for MacCready to pick them off, until there was only the fading echoes of gunfire and their corpses, distended and fractured.

Part of the next floor up had fallen through, and MacCready gave River a boost before climbing up after her. The offices on this floor were clearly for the higher-ups - cushy chairs and big, fat desks in the middle of a wide stretch of plush carpet. "I think we're getting close," she murmured, sifting through the papers spread out over one of the desks.

"Never could have held a job in a place like this," he remarked off-handedly. "Doing the same thing day after day? No thanks."

River shrugged. "You made different kinds of sacrifices back then."

MacCready opened a door toward the end of the hallway and quickly took out the two ferals lurking inside. "I think this is it."

She rounded the desk to sit behind the terminal, and he passed her a folded up piece of paper from his breast pocket. She copied the series of numbers and letters into the terminal and breathed a sigh of relief when it was accepted.

"I'm in," she said and MacCready exhaled a deep breath. She deactivated the security lockdown and stepped away from the terminal.

"I can't believe that worked."

"Your luck had to change eventually, right?" she joked.

MacCready shot her a sidelong glance, something like a smile on his face. "I think it already did. Come on, we need to get down to the sub-level. That's where they should have stashed the cure."

They retraced their steps back down to the airlock. Their presence set off a turret on the other side, and MacCready pulled River out of the doorway just before the bullets came flying in their direction. When there was a break in the gunfire, he leaned out from behind cover to shoot the turret down.

The deeper parts of the building were more heavily infested with ferals. MacCready tried to keep them at a distance, but one of them slipped past him, diving straight for River. She rolled out of its reach and pulled at a nearby bookshelf, bringing it down onto the ghoul's outstretched body. Its arms clawed at her, even as its lower half remained trapped under the weight of the bookcase. River crawled out of the way and MacCready planted a bullet in the back of its head, filling the room finally with silence.

He helped her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist, burying his face in her hair. She trailed her fingertips gently down the curve of his throat, felt his pulse racing under his skin. Her lips planted kisses along his hairline and slowly the tension seemed to ease from his body.

The geiger counter in her Pip-Boy started to sound in warning, and they slowed only to take doses of rad-x before pressing on. The rooms were different down here - not offices, but cell blocks, with ghouls or skeletons locked inside. She pressed closer to MacCready's side and his hand rubbed soothingly at the small of her back.

Eventually they fought their way to a rickety elevator. The doors slid closed after they boarded and cast them into an ominous darkness. The walls rumbled around them, tiles shaking beneath their feet. MacCready passed her a handful of shotgun shells, watching with something like pride in his eyes as she reloaded.

Finally there was a light _ding!_ and the elevator slowed to a stop. The doors opened again and they both recoiled at the powerful stench that hit them.

"Ugh, that's horrible," MacCready groaned, covering his mouth with his arm as River pulled her shirt up over her nose. "I think we're the first ones down here in a long time. The sooner we find that cure, the sooner we can get the heck out of here."

Her Pip-Boy ticked irritably in protest the further they ventured. River peeked around the corner this time and blasted the turret to pieces before they even set it off. The basement housed even more cell blocks, and she shuddered to think of the souls that had been held there against their will.

"This door won't open."

"I'll try the terminal." River cycled through the menus and activated the door control. It slid open and a glowing one stumbled out, swinging at MacCready with its arms. It snarled and snapped at him, and he fended it off with the back of his arm, the pistol falling from his hand and skittering across the floor.

River kicked the ghoul off of MacCready with a swing of her boot, stomping down hard on its jaw to keep it steady as she shot it in the chest. Blood and glowing viscera splashed back against her legs and hands, filling her with a cold wave of disgust. She pushed it down and turned to help MacCready up. "RJ. You okay?"

"I'm fine." He reached up to wipe a drop of blood from her cheek with his sleeve. "Thanks."

They stepped over the glowing corpse into a long laboratory. MacCready started shoving through drawers in the desks while River did a loop around the countertop. She pocketed a few stimpaks and med-x syringes, and then her eyes fell upon a short, red cylinder, and her heart soared at the little white letters that ran down the side: Med-Tek Prevent.

"RJ."

MacCready looked up into her eyes, then his gaze dropped to the object she was holding out to him in the palm of her hand. He reached out to pick up the medicine and erupted in laughter, edging toward hysterical with relief. "We did it . . . holy crap, we actually did it! We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live." He pulled her into a crushing hug, ducking his forehead against hers. "River. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back for this."

She hummed. "You still worried about balancing the books?"

"Always." His lips brushed hers, once, twice, lingered there just long enough to steal her breath.

"I meant it before. You don't owe me a thing."

MacCready shook his head. "Maybe one day I'll believe you."

He couldn't keep the grin off his face the whole way out of Med-Tek and back to the boathouse. He laughed when River complained about the goop and blood that stuck like cold sludge to her skin.

"Don't you laugh at me, RJ MacCready!"

"I'm sorry, I know it's disgusting," he said between chuckles. "You're just so cute when you're all worked up."

River wanted to scowl, but his easy smile was infectious. The man deserved what little peace he could get, even if it was at her expense. They walked down the path to the boathouse and River looked out across the calm waters, struck suddenly by a reckless whim. "Y'ever go skinny dipping before, RJ?"

MacCready turned, his eyes widening to the size of saucers when he saw her start to pull at the straps of her armor. "Uh, no. People don't really, uh, do that anymore. The rads, and . . . you know, mirelurks and all that."

She kicked out of her boots, leaving a trail of clothes and armor behind as she padded down the side of the house. "You'd better come keep me safe, then!" she called over her shoulder, sparing one last glance back at his dumbfounded expression before she disappeared around the corner.

* * *

MacCready shook himself from his stupor, flashes of River's skin playing over and over again like a song stuck in his head. He followed the sound of her giggles, her bare feet thumping over the wooden dock. He stumbled over her shirt, then a boot, a tattered, lacy bra that made his mouth feel suddenly so dry.

He found her at the edge of the dock, pale curves outlined against the dark waters around her. The silvery moonlight gave her hair an eerie glow, and somehow seeing her like this seemed _right_. She looked every bit the otherworldly entity she was, the woman who didn't belong, too smart and too pretty and too damn good for the world she woke up to.

River half turned, a smile playing at her lips. She hooked her fingers into the edges of her underwear and slid them down her hips, and _fuck fuck fuck_ , she was somehow even more perfect than he'd imagined her. He didn't deserve River and probably never would, but if she _wanted_ him,he could absolutely be selfish enough to let her have him. 

She inhaled a deep breath, then took a running start and dove into the water in a graceful arc. MacCready watched the rippling water, didn't realize he was holding his breath until her head broke the surface and he let the air loose in a heavy sigh.

River busied herself with scrubbing the dirt and blood from her skin while MacCready shrugged out of his clothes. He left Kellogg's pistol tucked into his boot near the edge of the dock just in case, pulling his shirt up over his head. His hands hesitated at his belt, stomach twisting with anxious anticipation as he glanced over at River. _She's fucking perfect, there's no way I'm gonna do this._ He took in the smooth expanse of her skin, her body that he'd dreamt of touching every night since they met. He was pulling his belt loose before he could give it a second thought. _Fuck yeah, I'm gonna do this_.

The water was cold enough to chill the breath in his lungs. He surfaced with a gasp, teeth chattering. "F-fu- _frack_ , it's freezing."

River drifted closer, her smile apologetic, hair pooled around her like a halo. "Yeah, that's kinda the downside of skinny dipping."

"W-what's the upside?" he demanded.

Her smile widened into a devious grin. "Keeping each other warm."

MacCready flinched when her fingertips grazed his arm, but chased instinctively after the heat of her touch. His hand wrapped around her wrist when she made to give him space, pressing her palm back to his arm in silent encouragement to continue. He felt her fingers trace the line of his bicep up to his shoulder, where her hands lingered. She dug her teeth into the plump curve of her bottom lip, a soft little mewl of appreciation in her throat.

From what MacCready had seen of Nate, he didn't seem like River's type - wasn't exactly Grognak-esque in stature, more scrawny than brawny, really. And yet her hands discovered the lines of his chest with a tender admiration nearing reverence, her fingertips gentle over old scars, star-shaped bullet wounds that painted constellations across his torso. Her fingers wound through his, guiding his hand to the curve of her waist. He felt her muscles flex under her skin as he traced the vertebra up the curve of her spine.

She was as good as begging him to touch her, and _Jesus_ , he must have imagined this moment a thousand times. Her skin was impossibly soft, like he'd known she would be, too soft to be handled by hands as rough as his, but she whimpered in pleasure and arched eagerly into his touch. Each stroke of his fingers over her skin seemed to relieve some tension deep in the marrow of her bones, drew a new, fascinating little noise out of her that urged him on like a trance.

River trailed suckling kisses down the column of his neck, her voice throaty and starved against his skin. "Fuck, your hands feel so good."

MacCready groaned, feeling his cock twitch beneath the water, hard like he hadn't been in years. "Jesus, River." _You're gonna make me come and you've barely even touched me._

"Sorry. I know. Sorry." She floated away from him, and his hands felt so cold, so empty without the weight of her between them. "Easy to get carried away with you."

"That's one way to put it," he grumbled, earning himself a knowing smile. He helped her knead the blood from her hair, interrupted by the occasional kiss to her neck and shoulders - now that he _could_ touch her like this, he was going to have a very hard time keeping his hands to himself. Especially when River was anything but discouraging, giggling into her fingertips, squirming delightedly in response to his every touch.

When she finally deemed herself clean enough, she swam back to the dock. He watched the water run down the curves of her body in fascination, horribly tempted to lean her back and finally satisfy that small part of him, growing louder and more insistent, that wanted to feel her legs wrapped around his head.

They made the mad dash through the cold night air into the boathouse, laughing in hushed whispers. The excited smile lingered on River's face as they dressed, her cheeks flushed pink, and he tried not to stare, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the tempting stretch of her pale, flat stomach that peeked out from beneath her tank top.

MacCready built up a fire while she unrolled her sleeping bag. She crawled into the warmth of her bedroll with a yawn, scooting closer to rest her head on his thigh. His hand stroked the silk of her hair, heavy and damp with water. There was a long stretch of silence, just the sound of insects outside and the crackling fire, River's steady breathing stretched out beside him. Then her voice broke the quiet.

"Are you going to leave?"

He blinked down at her in shock, felt the torment in her eyes pierce him to the bone. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Now that you have the cure . . . that's the whole reason you came to the Commonwealth, right? You can take it home to your son and enjoy watching him grow up, like you should be."

"River. . . ." MacCready sighed. "Yeah, that's what brought me out here. And I miss Duncan like crazy, but . . ." He shook his head, laughing under his breath. "If you think I can leave you behind after what you've done for me - after what we've been through - what you _mean_ to me. . . ." He trailed off with a noise of frustration. _No one's ever made me feel like this before. Maybe it's stupid, but I can't bear to walk away from that._

She peered up at him, eyes wide and shining as if she could read his thoughts. Her fingers curled around his and she pressed her lips to his palm.

"We'll take the cure to Daisy. With her caravan contacts, she's the only one I trust to get it to Duncan in time. After that . . . I'm all yours."

River pushed up onto her elbows, reaching up to grab him by the shirt collar and pull him down into a kiss. "I like the sound of that," she murmured against his lips.

He laughed, and the sight of her smile _moved_ something in him, brought parts of him back to life that he'd been _sure_ were gone for good. "Somebody's got to keep an eye on you."


	15. Devil's Own Luck

"Up and at 'em, RJ."

MacCready groaned in protest and squeezed his arms tighter around her, burying his face against her stomach. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to her affection - her warm laughter above him and the soothing scrape of her fingernails through his hair.  _Too warm, too comfy, way too damn tired._  "Come on, baby. Time to go." 

He rolled over onto his back to glare blearily up at her. The word slipped easily off her tongue, somehow so natural in her voice - _intimate_ , like she'd been saving it two hundred years just for him. "What time is it?" he croaked.

"Almost eleven."

"Eleven? Jesus." He forced himself to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face. "We shoulda left two hours ago."

"I know." River offered him an indulgent smile. "I didn't want to wake you up. You deserve to sleep in every now and then."

They packed up their things and left the boathouse behind, though River mentioned something about coming back later to set up a waypoint for her supply runners. She obviously didn't love being general of a people's militia, but she was bound and determined to give it all she had - which was a hell of a lot, really, more than he would've ever agreed to. There were entire settlements that wouldn't be standing if not for her and Preston Garvey, and maybe he couldn't be good like them, but he could try; he could keep her safe, help her find her son, take her back to the Capital so he could introduce his son to the woman who saved him. He was probably getting carried away now, but he was tired of fighting himself over her, falling apart at the seams with all the wanting and denying if she was willing to take a chance on him.

He couldn't shake the memory of her bare skin from his thoughts, the soft hills and valleys of her body through the freezing cold water, her delicate hands on his chest - pieces of her puzzle that would make him whole for years and years and years.

* * *

MacCready held the gate into Goodneighbor open for River, wary of the fresh wound to her shoulder. It had been the smallest lapse in judgment - reloading at the wrong time - and a mutant had gotten a lucky swing off at her with a wooden board. He blew its head to pieces only seconds later, but the damage had already been done.

She'd just been knocked on her ass by a super mutant and the first thing she did was thank him, wondering out loud for the thousandth time what she would do without him. He _wanted_ to say they wouldn't have been out there in the first place if not for him, mulled over that guilt while he gave her a stimpak, but she kissed the words from his mouth before he could get the chance. Kissed him until he was aching and breathless, until all he could think about was prying her legs open and tasting every last goddamn inch of her beautiful, beautiful skin.

Daisy smiled at the sight of them as they drew nearer, straightening behind the counter. "MacCready. I haven't seen you in a while. Figured I might never see you again, after you walked off with this one." She nodded warmly at River. "Good to see you, sweetheart."

"How could I stay away from someone as cute as you, Daisy?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

The ghoul snorted. "You're a lousy liar, but I'll just play stupid and pretend I don't know that. What did you need?"

"I _got it_ , Daisy. I found the cure for Duncan's disease."

Her cracked lips stretched into a smile. "Oh, my god! That's wonderful news. How'd you do it? Last time you tried, the ferals almost chewed you to bits."

"I didn't do it alone." He glanced over at River, taking in the triumphant line of her smile. "Now all I need is get the cure into Duncan's hands. Can you help me?"

"Of course, MacCready. You've saved my behind more than once, it's the least I can do." At River's curious look, she chuckled. "Running a business in a town like Goodneighbor is a challenge. Let's just say I've had my fair share of unfriendly customers and MacCready's been there to help me handle the situation. I'll get the sample on the first caravan leaving the Commonwealth. The driver owes me a few favors and he's reliable. It will arrive at your homestead in no time, MacCready."

He sighed in relief, passing the medicine and a folded letter for Leah and Charon over to her. "Thanks. You're a doll."

"We really owe you one, Daisy," River added. "If you ever need help with anything, we're there."

The ghoul studied them with fondness in the black of her eyes. "Just do me a favor and look after each other, all right?"

"Always." The word slipped out before he could think about it, like most of his words did really, but he didn't take it back.

River just smiled in response as Daisy waved them off. She slipped her arm through his, looking pleased as he'd ever seen her, like there was nowhere else she would've rather been than right next to him.

"Thank you, River," he said softly, covering her hand with his. "I still can't believe we actually did it."

"I think we've earned ourselves a little celebration, don't you?" She backed into the Rexford with a mischievous smile. "What do you say we drop our stuff off and hit the Third Rail?"

"Only if you're buyin'."

She laughed, pulling a handful of caps from her bag. "Always. One room, please," she added to Clair. He arched a brow at River in a silent question as the other woman went to retrieve the key from the wall. "You said stay close, right?" she murmured, lips curling up into a teasing smirk. "Besides, I rather like our recent sleeping arrangements."

Clair spared him the daunting task of responding to _that_ by sliding the key across the counter to them. River swiped it up with one last polite smile and they marched up the stairs to the third floor. Once they reached the room, MacCready threw his bag down and pocketed the pouch where he kept his caps, turning to wait for River.

"I'm gonna get changed and clean up a little bit," she told him, pulling her hair deftly from its braid. "I'll meet you down there?"

He hesitated in the doorway, so worked up and fucking hungry for her he almost refused - couldn't stomach the thought of even that small distance between them. Goodneighbor wasn't a safe town by any definition of the word, and she wasn't exactly inconspicuous with her snow-white hair and her face too clean, too pretty to fit in.

River seemed to sense his unease. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly, gripping his shirt in her hand to pull him down closer. "I won't be long. Promise."

MacCready had seen River crush a man's skull beneath her boot, watched her cave a feral's head in with the butt of her rifle when it got too close to him. She was general of the Minutemen and more than capable of taking care of herself within Goodneighbor's walls.

That's what the logical part of his brain was saying.

The other part of him was demanding he plant his feet right in the doorway until she was ready to leave. He fucking lived here now if that's where she wanted to stay, and that was such a _crazy_ thing to feel, but it was _there_ , deep in his heart. It took a few moments of struggling with himself to finally concede and step backwards into the hallway.

"You are so sweet," she said, laughing at the frustration clear as day in his expression. "Go on. People here know better than to mess with MacCready's girl."

He grinned then, couldn't help it - it sounded too fucking good. "They better."

"You'll teach 'em if they don't."

* * *

Their journey from the boathouse had taken up most of the day already, so it was well into the evening when MacCready stepped into the noise and warmth of the Third Rail. He and Ham exchanged a nod of greeting before he headed downstairs, where the tables were full with the bustling crowd as Magnolia warmed up before her set.

The booming sound of Hancock's laughter drew MacCready's attention to the mayor himself sitting at a table at the back of the bar, surrounded by doting townsfolk. He spotted him with a grin and waved him over. "MacCready! I heard you were back in town. You, uh . . . here alone?"

The mercenary rolled his eyes. "If you're asking if River's here, then yes."

Hancock laughed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see ya. Just a little happier to see that beautiful lady you run with." He nudged the woman at his side with his elbow and nodded over toward the bar. "Go get us a coupla beers, would ya?"

The blonde woman at his side pecked him on the lips and got to her feet, smiling at MacCready as she passed him. He dropped into an open seat next to Hancock with a sigh.

"So . . ." the ghoul began, trailing off. When MacCready remained pointedly silent, he went on, "You two fucking yet or what?"

"Come on, man," MacCready complained, pulling off his cap to rub at his brow. "I just sat down. You can't just come at me with that shi- crap."

"You're killin' me, MacCready," Hancock sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "The hell're you waitin' for, a written invitation?"

He let out a dry laugh. "Something like that."

Hancock's companion returned with two cold beers, and MacCready accepted one from her with a quiet thanks. "She helped me get Duncan's cure," he explained in a low voice. "We came to give it to Daisy so she can get it back to my family in the Capital."

Hancock regarded him intently, dark eyes curious. "Ah," he sighed sagely. "I get it now."

MacCready's eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare. "You get _what_?"

The ghoul shot him a wicked grin. "Come on, you really need me to spell it out for ya?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Look, you're my friend and normally I'd let ya fuck up and learn your lessons on your own, but women like River don't come around hiring up young punk kids every day."

MacCready picked at the faded label of his beer, nodding absently. He opened his mouth to say something to his defense, no matter how vain an effort, but Hancock interrupted him with a dark chuckle.

"Well, well. Speak of the devil."

MacCready followed the direction of Hancock's gaze to find River coming down the stairs, in those jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on. She'd pinned her hair up out of the way, some of the strands falling loose and standing out in stark contrast to the faded black leather of her jacket. The red of her lipstick called to him like a siren on the sinful fullness of her lips.

He tried to ignore the wave of panic that swept through him at the thought of her walking through Goodneighbor alone, looking as tempting as she did. His hands twitched anxiously around his beer and he hefted a sigh. "She's always gotta make my job so goddamn difficult."

"Then _fuck her_ already," Hancock advised him with a huff of impatience. "It's a national fucking tragedy that nobody is inside of her right now."

MacCready watched River wind her way through the tables toward the bar, sipping his beer to wet his dry throat. "Trust me, I know," he muttered, meeting her gaze across the crowd and catching the smile that crossed her face. "I just don't know if she picked the right man for the job."

"You shittin' me?" Hancock demanded, a low rasp of frustration in his rough voice. He jabbed a finger at the bar, where River was leaning in between patrons at the counter to order from Whitechapel Charlie. MacCready's hand tightened around his beer at the broad-shouldered drifter beside her who looked her up and down with hungry eyes, his gaze lingering on the strip of exposed skin between her jacket and her jeans. " _That_ is the look of a woman who knows what the fuck she wants," Hancock went on. "Jesus, I knew you were stubborn, but if River walked into a bar looking like _that_ for _me_ , I sure as shit wouldn't be sittin' here next to ya drinkin' beer. And I guarantee ya I'm not the only one who thinks so," he added casually as the stranger at the bar smiled at her, rumbled something under his breath that MacCready couldn't quite make out, though from the easy shape of his grin it was definitely an invitation of some kind.

MacCready was honestly surprised this hadn't happened sooner, and he tried to play it cool in front of Hancock, but something dark and rancorous twisted in his gut, filled him with the stifling heat of a possessive rage he probably shouldn't have felt so entitled to.

River slipped away from the stranger with a bright smile, whatever she told him having wiped the sleazy grin from his face, then turned her back on him to bring her whiskey over to their table. "Sorry to keep you boys waiting," she said, breathless and nearly inaudible over the rolling sway of the music as she slid onto the seat next to MacCready.

"You never need to be sorry lookin' like that," Hancock shot back smoothly, dragging his eyes up the length of her legs. "Jesus, they really don't make 'em like you anymore."

River laughed, shaking her head as she poured herself a shot. "You're gonna piss off my sniper," she warned him with a toothy grin before tossing it back, wincing as the liquor went down.

"He's always pissed off," Hancock chuckled, and then he leaned in to stage-whisper at her behind his hand. "Just needs to get laid, if ya ask me -"

"He's sitting right here, and nobody did," MacCready interrupted in a flat voice above the sound of their shared laughter.

River poured another shot, but slid the glass over to MacCready this time. Her eyes held a warm glow in the dim lighting of the bar, whiskey-gold under heavy lids as she watched him take the shot. She brought her thumb up to her lips and licked a drop of liquor from the pad of her finger, lipstick staining the skin there red.

MacCready savored the burn of whiskey in his chest, couldn't tear his eyes from the deep crimson of her lips, imagining all the places she might leave that red stain behind on his skin.

"You two are just the people I wanted to see, actually," Hancock cut in conversationally, hooking an arm over the back of his seat. "I got reconnaissance needs. Been hearin' some weird talk about a place called the Pickman Gallery. It's raider territory up there, but they've been quiet. Like, uncomfortable post-coitus quiet?" He smirked when River giggled. "After that clean-up job you pulled off with the triggermen, I was hopin' you two could snoop it out and give me the word."

"I suppose we could find our way over there," River agreed evenly, glancing over at MacCready for input.

"You're the boss."

"Great." Hancock grinned. "Oh, and I hope you haven't forgotten that little offer of ours, River."

The smile slowly faded from her face. She filled the shot glass again, swallowed the whiskey down with another grimace before she answered. "I haven't."

"You better not. I like seein' ya around. I'd hate to see ya leave for the last time, you feel me?" He pushed back from the table and got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. "All right, kiddos, I got some mayor shit to handle."

"Mayor shit, huh?" River teased. "Sure it doesn't have anything to do with that blonde who's been waiting for you at the bar?"

"A good mayor always has time for the concerns of his citizens," he replied, shooting her a wink. "You two play nice now." He held his arm out and the blonde woman curled up eagerly against his side, joining him on his way out.

"He is somethin' else," River muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

"What offer is he talking about?'" MacCready asked, watching her eyes harden with frustration in response. She sighed, tracing the rim of her shot glass with her fingertip. Magnolia's voice swelled around them, vibrant and smooth in the resounding acoustics of the old subway station. Her eyes darted over toward the stage, where the red sequins of Magnolia's dress glittered in the bright lights.

"Come on," she said finally, grabbing her drink and leading him through the tables to the back room, where she'd first walked into his life and changed everything. She plopped down on the couch and patted the spot beside her, scooting closer when he sat down. "Before we left Goodneighbor last time, Nick and Hancock offered to help me look for Virgil out in the glowing sea."

"They said they'd come with you?" MacCready blinked, tried to wrap his head around the mental image of River marching into the glowing sea with a synth detective and the mayor of Goodneighbor on either side of her. "Don't they have - I don't know - a detective agency and a town to run?"

"That's what I said, but they insisted." She shrugged, smiling wistfully. "It's 'cause I'm small. Men get this protective instinct sometimes. Plus, Nick feels like he owes me one and Hancock -"

"Wants to screw you."

That drew a laugh from her, despite the bitterness that hung from his words. "Not what I was going to say, but it might still be true."

MacCready's eyes were stuck on the strands of white hair that wound down over her neck, fighting back the desire gnawing at him to sweep them out of the way so his mouth could claim her skin uninterrupted. "Trust me," he said in a dry voice. "It's true."

River's lips twisted up into an appreciative smile. She took a swig of whiskey and set the bottle aside, her tongue darting out to chase the taste of liquor from her lips. "While we're on the subject," she began, amusement and something else in the smoke of her voice, something heated and rich that ran like a shock down his spine, made his cock strain for her in his pants. "I hope you don't mind me taking some liberties with your reputation, but I told the guy at the bar I couldn't go home with him because I was already spoken for."

Relief eased the ache from his chest, replacing it with a floating sense of comfort and a confidence that roared in him like triumph. _Fucking right you did._

"Actually," she corrected herself pointedly, shifting closer to throw her leg over his lap; he couldn't remember the last time he had a woman straddling him like this, and his body was so _ravenous_ for her, he couldn't help but fill his hands with her hips. "That's not entirely accurate." Her lips grazed his ear, fingernails digging into the line of his shoulders. "What I said was, 'That mercenary over there is going to fuck me until I scream tonight, and I just don't think I'd have it in me to go again after.'"

MacCready choked on a noise, halfway between laughter and a groan. The sweet smell of her hair and the alcohol in his system went straight to his head, made his thoughts feel heavy, slow through the haze of lust that fogged his brain. "This a good time for that _conversation_ we keep putting off?"

She smiled deviously. "I think now is a very good time."

* * *

Magnolia's music and ambient noise drifted in from the bar, loud enough nearly to drown out the sound of their voices. River toyed with the zipper of her leather jacket, and as she tugged it down, he drank in every inch of skin she freed like it was the last thing he'd ever see. She could determine from the shift in his expression the precise moment when he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath - shock and arousal in his eyes, warring with possessive disapproval in the line of his mouth. A man of constant contradictions, her MacCready, and she might like to spend the rest of her days teasing apart all the emotions he could never seem to make up his mind about. Her hips slid closer, settling over his, and his hard cock against the seam of her jeans forced a whimper out of her. She ached to give him relief, to soothe all his tensions and troubles like he'd been doing for her since the day they met.

His hand drifted down to the stretch of skin between her coat and jeans, made lazy circles there with the rough pad of his thumb. "I'm all ears," he rumbled, heat and amusement in his voice.

River dragged her hips over the straining weight of his cock, trapped beneath his pants, and watched his smirk part around a groan. "I dream about your hands on me," she sighed, nipping at the lobe of his ear as her thighs squeezed his hips. "How fucking _good_ you would feel inside of me."

He hissed her name under his breath, hips rocking instinctively against her, and _fuck_ , yes, that was _perfect_. It was almost embarrassing, the noises that tumbled out of her at a little dry humping in the back of a bar, but she'd been burning for his touch for far too long to be self-conscious now. "You need to get me back to the room," she hinted breathlessly.

"Yep!" He had her on her feet and her jacket zipped back up all in one fluid motion. Magnolia was between songs when he tugged her back through the bar toward the stairs, but River couldn't find it in herself to care about the curious stares they drew in the resulting lull.

"You two have a good night now," Ham called after them when they passed, amusement in the rasp of his voice. She was definitely going to hear about it from Hancock next time she saw him; she would have to deal with the mayor later.

They broke out into the dimly-lit Goodneighbor streets and River sighed in relief, the cool night air soothing her flushed skin. The whiskey settled like a warmth between her hips, stoking the flames of her desire. She turned to catch his expression and bit back a groan at the look in his eyes, like she was just what he'd been searching for.

"RJ," she whined when he pressed her up against the wall of the hotel, his tongue brushing hers and stealing the complaint from the back of her throat. One rough hand threaded into her hair while the other fell to her hip, thumb inching up under the edge of her jacket. Felt like he was touching her everywhere all at once, every stroke of his calloused fingers sending twinges of pleasure down to the heat pooling between her thighs. "Inside," she urged him when his mouth hunted down her jaw to the curve of her throat.

He muffled an impatient groan there, nipping softly at her skin before eventually reaching for the door to the Rexford. Clair shot them only a cursory glance as they hurried through the lobby, returning her interest to the book spread open on the desk in front of her.

River climbed the stairs, the sound of her laughter trailing behind her, where she could hear MacCready's boots storming up the steps as he chased her. He caught up to her halfway to the third floor, if only because she let him; they slammed up against the nearest wall, and MacCready swallowed down her pleased little gasp, pulling at her jacket zipper and trailing his mouth down the slope of her chest. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and then she felt his tongue stroke the curve of her breast and shuddered against him, letting loose a shaking moan. " _Room_ , RJ, or else we're doing it here."

From the smirk on his face, he didn't seem to have any problems with that idea, but he grabbed her by the hand nonetheless and together they climbed the last set of stairs to the room. She patted her pockets for the key, trying to ignore his hands on her like a wildfire, his cock pressed up flush and insistent against the curve of her ass.

When she finally managed to get the door open, he was already pushing her inside, backing her up across the room to the desk against the far wall - and if she hadn't already worked herself up into a frenzy, his frantic enthusiasm certainly would've done the job. And then his mouth was claiming hers again, and maybe it was wrong, maybe he was too young, maybe this would end in heartache and disaster, but his kisses were the closest thing she'd ever felt to heaven and she was just drunk enough to want more of them, consequences be damned.

River pushed at his duster, desperate to feel his body under her hands again after the small taste she'd gotten yesterday. MacCready obliged her with a dismissive impatience, more focused on tracing the contours of her throat with his mouth than undressing. After the two seconds it took to free his arms, his hands were back on her again, learning her body with a hunger that had kept him up for days. Her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him to continue. "Teeth," she managed to sigh between gasping breaths. "Use your tee-aaaaah, _yes_ ," she groaned when she felt him bite down.

Her legs curled around his waist, drawing him nearer, and she hissed when the hard ridge of his erection brushed against her. "Fuck, RJ," she cried, rolling her hips against him, making them both sigh at the sensation. Her fingers slipped up under his shirt, greedily ran down the dips between his abdominal muscles. Again she felt the puckered rise of scar tissue beneath her fingertips; someday, she would find out the story behind each one. For now she contented herself with learning them by touch, marveling at the strength required to survive them - and all the ones she couldn't see, that lurked and ached beneath his ribs and mirrored her own too closely.

MacCready caught hold of her jacket zipper and, after a brief glance up at the desire that danced in her eyes, yanked it all the way down until the leather split open around her like the petals of a flower. His eyes slipped closed for a moment, as if in prayer, before he lowered his face to plant a suckling kiss to the pale skin below her collarbone.

She gasped, a frayed, feminine breath, arching up in instinctive pursuit of the dull pain that fired off synapses like flashes of lightning in her brain, sensations that overwhelmed her raw nerves after being untouched for so long. MacCready filled the space between her legs perfectly, and his hands on her waist were melting the last vestiges of ice from her lonely body, filling her with a heat that threatened to burn her alive. Their kisses turned clumsy, teeth clashing, falling out of rhythm, but just the feeling of his lips and tongue on her made tension twist and build deep inside of her.

* * *

 _Fuck_ , River was sweet, and so _damn_ responsive beneath him; MacCready was anything but an expert when it came to sex, but she mewled and writhed under his hands like she'd been waiting for his touch her whole life. Her lips were soft under his, and when they parted on a shaky breath, he could taste the whiskey on her tongue.

"Fuck, RJ." River laughed, her voice throaty and wrecked and fucking sexy as all hell. "You are everything I needed," she purred approvingly. Her lips pulled bruises up beneath the skin of his throat while he fumbled with the button of her jeans, groaning when she ground her hips against him and cradled the stiff length of his cock between her thighs and _fuck_ , it had been too long, it had been _way_ too long to be doing this here with her right now.

She lifted her hips so he could tug her jeans down and wrapped her arms around his neck, coaxing him down into a kiss. He was starting to get used to the shape of her mouth, the full lips that swelled so easily from his affections, her eager, searching tongue that threatened to swallow him whole. His hands roamed hungrily over smooth, warm skin, felt her muscles bunch and move beneath his fingertips.

"RJ," she breathed when he nipped at her neck, worrying the pulse point there between his teeth. "RJ, _please_ ," and he would give her _anything_ when she begged him like that, but this woman hadn't been fucked in two hundred years and she deserved to be taken care of properly.

He tilted his forehead against hers and took a deep breath, struggling for a moment of clarity. "It's been a long time . . . I haven't in -"

She kissed him softly, then deeper, the tip of her tongue flicking teasingly at his teeth. "S'okay," she breathed, shifting her weight and groaning when it pressed his cock harder against the damp warmth beneath her underwear. "Fuck, just this feels amazing."

He'd been doubting himself for so long, wondering if it were sinful for someone like him to want someone like her. He knew now without a doubt that it was, probably one of the most sinful things he'd ever done. But her legs were wrapped around his waist like that was right where she wanted him, and the heat between her thighs was scorching against his cock and he knew abruptly, undeniably, that he would follow her for the rest of his days.

_Call me a fuckin' sinner, 'cause I'm never letting her go._

* * *

River watched the hesitation fade from his expression, felt his shoulders tense up with determination beneath her hands as he pulled her closer. She'd only had a few shots, but his attention was making her light-headed, her body wound up so tight she thought she might fall apart at any moment.

MacCready trailed kisses down the line of her jaw, lower to the dip between her breasts, and then she felt his tongue curl around the stiff peak of a nipple. The pleasure was so sudden and sharp it neared pain, reduced her thought process to a swell of white static and heat. "That's - ah - _mmn_." She meant to form words, encourage him to continue his torturous exploration of her bare skin, but she was too touch-starved for coherency, drunk off cheap whiskey and his unwavering attention. She tugged at his shirt, and reluctantly he lifted his arms to help her pull it off of him. He returned to sucking at her throat, hands busy dancing down the flat plane of her stomach, so she undid his jeans for him and shoved them impatiently down his legs.

"Jesus, RJ," she breathed when her fingers brushed over the heated length of his cock, straining beneath his underwear. "Where the fuck have you been hiding that thing?"

He choked out a laugh, the sound fraying into a groan when she traced the head of his cock through his briefs. She pulled him back down into another kiss, and through the thin layers of what clothes they had left, she could feel how _thick_ he was, so hard for her it almost brought her to tears. She ground her hips closer to him, throwing her head back at the shock of white-hot pleasure. Her mouth trailed wet heat over his shoulder to his collarbone, where her tongue lapped at his skin and came away with the salt of sweat.

River was too swept up in the building sensation to think about undressing any further, just clung to MacCready with all the energy she could summon as they rocked impatiently against each other, seeking friction, hands wandering and satiating hungers they'd both been suppressing since they first met. She savored the roll of his shoulders beneath her fingertips, his broad hands on her hips, rough, bordering on possessive, and she liked the feel of that very, _very_ much.

MacCready's fingers dug into her waist, and the next pass of his cock stroked her clit so perfectly, she thought for a moment she might faint. Every point his body touched hers flushed with a savage heat that stole the breath from her lungs. A moan caught in her throat halfway out, and she bit down onto the swell of his shoulder to muffle herself. He grunted, hips jerking at the sensation of her teeth.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice breaking apart around the word, stoking the heavy weight of arousal, deep in her gut. "I might . . ."

River closed her legs around his hips, yanking him closer. She brushed her lips against the shell of his ear to whisper his name in a throaty voice. His hips thrust erratically against her, dragging rough cotton back and forth over her folds and sending shocks of electric pleasure through her. She laughed, breathless with disbelief. "Fuck, that's good."

He dipped his head to kiss her, clumsily, his fingers tangling in her hair. He rocked faster against her, voicing a pained whine. "River, I'm gonna -"

"Please," she begged, clinging to him for dear life. She breathed his name like a prayer, over and over, the smoke and honey of her voice scattered and harsh. " _P_ _lease_ , baby. I want to feel you."

MacCready buried his face in her neck with a heavy groan as he came, pumping his hips through the waves of his orgasm. His voice was low and husky near her ear, too delicious to resist, the warmth of his cum blooming over the scant clothing left between them.

"Fuck," she whimpered as he tried to catch his breath between chaste, languid kisses to the curve of her throat. "That was so hot."

A tired chuckle. "Did you . . . ?"

"No, but I'm close." She tilted her head to the side, bottom lip swollen and caught between her teeth. "Bite me?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, but sank his teeth into her throat without a word.

"Harder," she urged him, voice breathier now. Her legs squeezed around him when he dug his teeth in deeper, a flare of pain to ground her amongst the swell of pleasure. Her fingers dipped down into her underwear to the throbbing heat of her sex. Her body trembled like a tensely coiled spring, wound up and on the cusp of release, her fingers finding slick arousal beneath dewy curls. It wouldn't take long at all, not with MacCready's teeth at her throat and his hands coarse and hungry on her body. The sound of him coming undone was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard, and the memory of his voice muffled and frayed against her neck was enough to tip her over.

River clung to him as the waves of her release overtook her, washed the ache and starvation from her body, left her sobbing and boneless in his arms. A long, mournful cry spilled from her lips, muscles trembling with pleasure. Over her rushing pulse she could just make out the sound of MacCready's voice, reverent and faint around another curse at the sight of her coming down from her climax.

They held each other through the aftermath, quivering and weak. River was unexpectedly tender in the wake of her release, lazy and dreamy like a sated cat as she clung to his shoulders. She felt laughter bubbling up from deep in her chest, voicing the relief she didn't know how to put into words.

MacCready managed a weary chuckle against the flushed skin of her shoulder, leaning bodily against her to spare his shaky legs the weight of his body. When he lifted his head, there was satisfaction in the blue of his eyes. His hand pushed the hair back from her shoulder so he could plant kisses to the curve of her throat.

River bit back a groan, echoes of pleasure still pulsing between her thighs. He laughed again, more than she'd ever heard him laugh before, a smug smirk playing at his lips. When he spoke, his voice was rough and parched, rubbed her in all the right ways. "So . . . that was probably a bad idea, right?"

"Drunkenly hooking up with the merc I hired? Probably," she croaked in agreement, cracking a smile. "But I've never really been one to learn from my mistakes."

MacCready exhaled an amused breath. "That's good, because I happen to have notoriously bad judgment." He nuzzled his face into the curve of her throat, nipping playfully at the skin over her pulse, her neck littered with red welts from his teeth. With a heavy sigh, he pulled away from her, a hand braced on the desk beside her for support. He grumbled to himself as he peeled his underwear down his thighs, the words difficult to make out above the sound of her blood rushing in her ears; the view was more than a little distracting, too, tan skin rolling smooth over lean, wiry muscle, and a thin trail of tawny hair that her eyes followed down his navel to the curls between his hips. She sighed in disappointment when he pulled a new pair up over his legs.

He flashed her a cocky grin, coming over to kiss her. His hands cradled her face, so tender it made her heart clench, right after it had finally calmed back down to a healthy resting rate. "Gotta be honest with you, that's not exactly how I imagined this might go. . . ."

"Oh?" River asked teasingly as she slid down from the desk to find a change of clothes for herself. She dressed slowly, giving him a chance to get an eyeful in the safety of their private room. His hands moved hesitantly over her skin at first, then with more purpose, admiring every part of her from her shoulder blades to the backs of her knees. "Disappointed?"

"No," he promised at once, his voice suddenly solemn. His eyes searched her face, fingertips rough down the line of her jaw. "Never. That was . . . amazing. You're more than I deserve." He ducked his head against hers and choked out a self-conscious laugh. "I was talking more about the part where I came in my pants like a teenager."

"I liked that part." River pulled his t-shirt on and then crawled onto the bed, smiling at him over her shoulder. "You comin', big guy?"

That familiar, arrogant smirk returned to his face, and he slid onto the mattress beside her. He slung an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest, close enough that she could synchronize the swell of her breathing to his and feel his mouth brush the nape of her neck.

"River," he murmured, voice heavy with sleep already, and even through the exhaustion she could hear the veneration with which he spoke her name. His bare chest gave off heat like a furnace against her back, legs tangling with hers, and she'd almost forgotten the boneless pleasure of having a warm body wrapped around her. MacCready's proximity felt so _natural_ in the wake of their intimacy, as much a part of her as the breath in her lungs or the blood pumping through her veins.

River had never believed in luck, not before the war and definitely not after what she'd been through now - but MacCready fit her so perfectly she found herself wondering if maybe her luck hadn't just been here the whole time, two hundred years in the future, waiting for her to thaw out and come find him.


	16. Manna from Heaven

MacCready woke up with the alarming sensation that his arm was gone. Once he was fully lucid, he realized it had fallen numb under River's weight, curled up as she was in the crook of his shoulder. The white fan of her hair spilled over his chest, tickling his bare skin every time he breathed. Annoying, but absolutely worth the relief of waking up next to her.

Every night without fail, River still waited for him in his dreams - half memory, half fantasy, and always, _always_ perfect, no matter how she appeared: strong and infallible in steel armor or panting and squirming in his arms, hips trembling as she cried out her release. And in that brief suspension between asleep and awake, there was always a stab of panic that he would wake up into a world where she didn't really exist. A stupid fear - like _his_ brain could ever think up someone like her, even if she was somehow so scarily _exactly_ what he was into - but waking up to the sound of her breath and her legs pressed up against his was like a salve to all his wounds.

River stirred beside him and he froze, holding his breath until she settled again. Her arms curled around his forearm in her sleep. He almost laughed - any part of him she wanted was hers, and now that the terror looming behind that fact had disappeared, it was kind of funny. Rain pattered against the Rexford roof above them, alternating louder and softer in waves. The window was boarded over, but bright light filtered in through the cracks - it was day, at least, but River's Pip-Boy was just out of reach, so the actual time would have to remain a mystery for now.

He couldn't care less, and in the long run it didn't matter. Things were finally coming up MacCready - which seemed statistically impossible given his track record - and the vast majority of it was due to the woman sleeping next to him.

A crack of thunder rumbled through the earth somewhere nearby, startling River awake. She turned over with a soft moan and pressed closer to his side, her arm sliding over his chest. MacCready shifted his elbow into the dip of her neck with a sigh of relief as the nerves there prickled unpleasantly. River planted lazy kisses over the swell of his shoulder, murmuring sleepily.

MacCready trailed his fingers down her hip, where his shirt had ridden up over her skin. "You awake?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, laughter in the sound. "Can we just stay here all day?"

He chuckled. "You know what I'm gonna say."

A breathy laugh, then her lips on his pulse point, voice like hushed velvet against his skin. "That's right. Well, as the boss I think we've earned a day in bed." She slid her leg over his hip, pushing herself up on top of him. Her tongue dipped into the curve of his collarbone, followed by the scrape of her teeth.

"Oh, yeah? Doin' what?"

She spared him a cursory, impatient glance, her eyes like pools of amber honey. "Picking up where we left off." There was an implied _obviously_ in her tone, like his disbelief was unfounded - like it made sense for an angel like her to be on top of him - all while her hands inched closer and closer to his underwear, where his cock was waiting eagerly for her. Her lips curled up into a wicked smile as she hovered over him, her hand splayed out flat over the tensing muscles of his stomach. "Unless you'd like me to stop."

MacCready sat up on his elbows, smirking at her. "I guess I'm waiting to see how this one plays out."

She snorted, but her expression was fond. "Typical." And then her mouth was on him - tracing the long, narrow scar that spanned the length of his ribs, her lips warm against sensitive scar tissue. He shivered under her, sucking in an unsteady breath. River paused to look up at him through her lashes, smiled when she noticed the look on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just . . ." Her cheeks were pink as she laughed. "I just really love it when you look at me like that."

"I could look at you all day, beautiful," he promised, inching his hand up her thigh. He made a low, approving rumble, deep in his throat. "Nobody wears two hundred like you do."

"RJ." She muffled her giggle into his throat, a ringing, singsong sound that made his heart clench. There was nothing but the steadily pouring rain on the roof and her body heat, her skin like silk beneath his hands, and for once in his life, he was _happy_. It'd been so long, he'd half forgotten what it felt like. Her hips squirmed appealingly on top of him, and he let out a breathless groan, startling her into falling still.

"No, no, keep doing that."

Satisfaction blazed in her eyes as she laughed and tugged his shirt up over her head, white hair spilling down around her shoulders like a work of art, like a fucking _masterpiece_ , painted with colors he never even knew existed. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, smile breaking loose on one side, and the way she ran her eyes over his body like she didn't even know where to begin was more than a guy like him deserved.

River pushed up onto her knees, bracing one hand against his chest as the other slipped her panties down over her hips. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, smooth, pale skin and dark curls, pink folds slick and perfect. He was touching her before he realized it, his hand drifting up her thigh until his fingers found warm, silky arousal, wrenching a pained moan from her throat.

MacCready blinked, pulled his hand away as if she'd burned him. "I'm sorry - did I hurt you?"

" _RJ_ ," she growled, reaching out to grab his hand by the wrist and bring it back to the warmth between her thighs. "Please."

 _The begging again_. . . He couldn't take much of that, was already at the edges of his self-restraint, his cock straining in his underwear for even just the briefest hint of her. He slid his fingers between her slick folds, rolled his thumb over the hood of her clit, making her hips twitch above him in response. That was about as far as his expertise ranged, but River seemed pleased with each and every point of contact between them: his mouth peppering kisses over her stomach, and his middle finger, pushing slowly into her, and _fuck_ , she was so wet and scorching hot, clenching at his finger as he pulled it out to add another.

"Fuck, River," MacCready groaned, dipping his forehead against her stomach to steady himself. This was River, he was _touching River_ like he'd dreamt of doing every night since they first met. Felt like a fever was rushing through his body, heating the blood in his veins, making his thoughts rushed and frenzied. His head and his heart and his cock were all screaming at him to be inside of her, _immediately_. He didn't want to rush her, but his hips jerked uncontrollably, betraying the need in his body.

"I know, baby," she soothed him, swinging up onto her knees. He felt her hands sliding underneath the edge of his underwear and teasing the tattered cotton down his hips, then her slender, warm fingers wrapping around his cock and fucking Christ, when was the last time someone had touched him like this? A strangled wheeze tumbled out from between his clenched teeth as his body shuddered in response.

River smiled breathlessly, eyes wet and shining. She licked her fingertips, then dragged them over the head of his cock, lined him up against the searing heat of her sex. His head fell back against the mattress, jaw hanging open in wordless awe as she sank down slowly around him. He watched her brows push together in concentration, teeth biting down way too hard on her bottom lip, and he wanted to remind her not to break the skin - she'd done it before - but he couldn't quite remember how to form words. He dug his fingers into her hips instead as she took more and more of him, her breath coming out in shallow pants. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ she was beautiful, and he was making himself dizzy glancing back and forth between the ecstasy on her face and the sight of his cock disappearing inch by inch inside of her.

"Ha-ah, _fuck_ ," River hissed when her hips finally settled flush against his. Her body trembled above him, and he stroked his hands comfortingly down her back. He was just about to ask if she needed a second before she gave a sharp cry and her walls suddenly clamped down around him like a vice.

"Fuck," he grunted again, couldn't help it, would feel bad about it later, but River coming undone around his cock was an act of _divinity_ the likes of which might change his life forever. It was almost enough to send him over the edge himself, even after coming last night.

She came down shuddering and gasping for breath, clinging weakly to his shoulders. "God, you're _thick_." Her hips picked up a lilting rhythm, erratic in the wake of her climax, the weight of her body urging him deeper inside of her. Her nails were needle-sharp points of pain in his shoulders, distracting but tolerable, tempering the surge of primal compulsion that demanded he roll them over and fuck her until she couldn't walk anymore. River was sin incarnate, tempting and sweet and irresistible, but she was also little, and soft, and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he hurt her.

And then River leaned down and sank her teeth into the curve of his throat, and _that_ hurt like hell - but it also sent a thrill through him that he couldn't quite explain. "RJ," she breathed, her voice hitching as she rocked her hips back and forth, pulsing and squeezing around him. She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, already his new favorite sound in the entire world. "I would . . . _very_ much like for you fuck me now."

MacCready had her on her back in seconds, took the chance to learn the swell of her breasts with his mouth. His beard left red scratches on her pale skin, but she whimpered and arched up into him when his lips closed around a taut, pink nipple. He laved at the peak with his tongue, barely keeping down a satisfied noise when she moaned in pleasure.

River licked her lips, caught the weight of his erection in her hand and guided him between her thighs. Her eyes rolled back when he started to push into her, mouth falling open into a wordless cry. He caught her lips in a kiss, grabbing hold of the sheets as his hips gave a lazy thrust forward.

The skin of her neck was smooth and soft beneath his lips, then between his teeth, and the sharp pain made her gasp, fingernails digging into his skin as she tried to pull him closer. They were about as close as two people could be, were practically the same fucking person when he was this deep inside of her; but he felt it, too, this insatiable compulsion to be somehow closer, to let her consume all the hurt and the stupid mistakes - let her be a part of him.

"R-" She tried for his name, but it melted into a groan halfway through when he started to move faster. Her nails bit like teeth into his sides and he nodded into the curve of her throat, muffling a breathless moan there. She wrapped her legs around his waist as if to keep him there forever, and if his mouth wasn't so busy leaving stinging kisses down the side of her neck, he would've promised her what he knew now to be true - he wasn't going anywhere.

River had never been so open or so fucking _vocal_ before; her every breath carried a mewl or whimper or moan, some tantalizing noise that made his blood pound, riled up some primitive, masculine part of him. They swelled in volume as she neared another orgasm, and he normally wouldn't have been so certain, but River was ranting mindlessly in the haze of her pleasure: " _RJ_ , fuck - baby, I'm gonna _come_ \- _ah!_ "

MacCready couldn't help grinning - maybe he looked like an idiot, but the woman of his dreams was underneath him, moaning his name, and then suddenly coming, coming _hard_ , letting loose a piercing shriek as she clenched tightly around him. He'd probably never get used to the heavenly feel of her, the ecstasy on her face as she came undone.

River threw an arm over her head, gasping for breath. He drew himself out of her with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to the soft flesh of her forearm. "You okay?"

"You - I - it's. . . ." She said each word between heavy breaths, scraping together a husky laugh. "It's perfect," she finally managed with an easy smile before rolling over onto her knees. MacCready raised an eyebrow at her, and she just shot him a smile over her shoulder, wiggling her hips invitingly at him. "Come on, big guy."

He almost laughed. Nobody ever called _him_ that, but he supposed relative to River, it wasn't that far off. _Come to think of it, she never called me that before last night -_

He could probably get used to that.

She hummed in approval when he caught her by the hips, his fingertips hunting up between her folds to find the heat of her entrance. He slid his fingers into her, savoring the soft moans she made in response, the way she arched her hips back against him.

He palmed himself, felt her warmth against the head of his cock and then the pulsing grasp of her walls as he pushed into her for the third time.

"Fuck," she sighed, throwing her head back. He reached out to stroke the white strands of her hair, then trailed his hand down her spine as he fell into a determined rhythm. River slid down onto her elbows, gnawing mindlessly on her knuckles to keep quiet, working her hips to meet every thrust.

"River. . . ." Her name slipped out on a rough groan, and she whimpered at the sound of it, thighs trembling against his. She was too beautiful, too fucking sexy, he wasn't going to make it much longer at this rate. "You're gonna make me come, beautiful."

"Good." The word was breathless, but heavy with satisfaction and pleasure and maybe even a little pride. River moaned, her hands twisting in the sheets. "Fuck, baby, you're so good. Mmn - _ah_ , god, _yes_!" Eventually all she could manage was his name, stuttered out between rough groans, and combined with the torturous pulsing of her body around his cock it sent him over the edge.

"Fuck, _fuck_ , River," he groaned, pulling out and taking himself in his hand as he came over her back and thighs. River smiled at him over her shoulder, watching his face in fascination, like he'd watched hers, and it was enough to leave him all warm and fuzzy after the lightning strikes of his orgasm had finally subsided.

She exhaled heavily, slumping over onto her side, laughing when he collapsed next to her. "Thank you," she breathed and wriggled closer to kiss him softly, tenderly. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much I needed you. Not just the sex, which was amazing, and which I'm hoping we can have lots more of. It's _you_ , RJ. I need you." Her eyes were wide and serious as she pressed her lips to the back of his hand. "I hope that's okay."

MacCready swallowed past a lump in his throat, catching her hand in his. "Yeah," he said finally, with a slow smile. "That's okay."

River smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, handsome. You wanna get me something to, uh . . . ?"

"Right." He got to his feet, caught himself on the foot of the bed when his legs almost gave out beneath him. She giggled, resting her chin on her arms and watching him with great interest as he pulled his pants on. They hung loosely from his hips while he dug around in his bag for an old towel. He cleaned the remnants of his orgasm from her skin, smiling when she sighed and squirmed under the palm of his hand.

They curled up together, and MacCready could feel her heart still racing under her skin. He buried his face in her hair, inhaled the familiar sweetness there. "How do you always smell so damn good?"

"Vanilla extract. I found some in a supermarket a couple months ago. It's not my favorite smell, but it's better than sweat and blood."

"I like it." MacCready pressed his lips to her temple, savoring the weight of her in his arms. It felt so right to have her at his side, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to go without her. He didn't plan on it anyways. "Hey, about this whole glowing sea business. . . ."

River grew still beside him, her fingertips pausing their designs over the skin of his chest.

He pushed up onto his elbow to look down at her. "If Valentine and Hancock want to tag along, that's up to you. You're the boss. But I'm coming with you."

Her lips tightened into a concerned line. "It's gonna be -"

"Dangerous, yeah, I know," he retorted. "What was all that noise about keeping an eye on you, if you're just gonna leave me behind?"

"Trust me, ninety-nine percent of the life-threatening situations I get myself into, it'll be you saving my ass," she promised him. "This one, though - the rads, and whatever other horrible things are out there . . . . I've lost too much and I can't . . . I can't lose you, too." Her voice frayed at the end of her confession, raw with emotion, and his heart squeezed in response.

"That's a two-way street, y'know." MacCready dipped his head against hers, tracing the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. "I don't care if Sturges has to fix up another set of power armor, or if you need to dose me up with rad-x - whatever it takes, I'm _coming with you_."

"Hmn." River cracked a smile, as if she couldn't fight it any longer. Finally she conceded, rolling her eyes in defeat. "I guess that's what I paid you for, isn't it?"

"You keep telling yourself that." He smirked, nipped at the line of her jaw and smiled at the laughter it drew out of her. "We both know you just can't get enough of me."

"I've created a monster."

MacCready grinned, and winked down at her with such confidence it sent a thrill of affection through her. "You'd better keep an eye on me, then."

* * *

River was well and truly _relaxed_ , for the first time in months - centuries, really - satisfied and sore in all the best ways. The tender ache between her thighs was a constant reminder of that morning: MacCready sliding into her for the first time, the sweet burn of stretching around him, bone-rattling orgasms that left her weak and shaky for at least an hour afterward.

Every time she met his gaze, her cheeks burned like some high school girl, passing her crush in the hallways. That smug smirk on his face didn't help at all, because _damn it_ , arrogance looked so _good_ on him, and he seemed to have no shortage of it after he made her come so much earlier. She wished that wasn't so appealing about him, but like most things MacCready - his impatience, his wit, the smell of him that still clung to her skin - it only drew her to him more.

"Whaaat is all that about?" MacCready asked, gesturing with a sweep of his hand at all the grenades she was purchasing from KL-E-0, his voice heavy with concern.

"We're gonna help the Minutemen take back the Castle. If we can set up a headquarters there, we can start to help people this side of the Commonwealth. According to my guys, there's a bit of a mirelurk infestation, and I'm not a great shot, so grenades it is."

To her immense surprise, he nodded simply in agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

River lowered her voice, shoving the necessary amount of caps across the counter toward the assaultron. "This compliance wouldn't have anything to do with this morning, would it?"

"I can be _compliant_ ," he complained, the hint of a smile betraying his amusement.

"Uh-huh. Sure." She raised her voice and waved goodbye to the robot. "See you around, KL-E-0."

"When something needs killing," the assaultron agreed, as amicably as her voice allowed.

"That's a really good line," River muttered under her breath when they were out of earshot, and MacCready laughed. The sound drew the attention of a man lounging on a bench nearby, dressed so shabbily he practically blended into their surroundings, if not for the pristine black of his shades. There was something _off_ about him, something familiar - like she'd seen him somewhere before. . . .

MacCready's hand on her elbow brought her back to the present. "You ready to go? We got a long walk home."

She stared into the blue of his eyes, lips tilting up into a smile. "Ready."


	17. Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut heavy. I have no regrets.

The Commonwealth sky stretched open above them, pale blue and cloudless, sunshine beaming down gentle rays of warmth. In another life, it would have been the topic of small-talk in a thousand different conversations all over Boston: _Beautiful day we got here, isn't it? Hard to keep workin' when it looks like that outside_. River would have been sitting at her desk and staring out through the window, longing to be anywhere else.

It had taken her a few months to get to this point, but she realized now that some parts of her life had actually improved. She never had to sit through another tough day at work or rush-hour traffic, never had to file her tax return, or pay the water bill, or any of the other mundane, irritating responsibilities that used to sap the fun out of her life. She wasn't faultless in that regard - she'd always been rather poorly equipped to handle stress, with her short temper and impatience - but part of being an adult was learning how to handle matters that bored and bothered her.

Sure, maybe she'd been shot a couple of times, and every day she walked out into the wastes put her life at risk again, and her son was still missing, and there were mosquitoes the size of golden retrievers, and a thousand other horrifying things that chattered at the back of her mind - but at least for today, she allowed herself to enjoy what little made sense in her life . . . what made her happy. . . .

A beautiful day, a gun in her hands, and MacCready at her side. An entire town full of people awaiting her return, a growing army of Minutemen who looked to _her_ for guidance; she had a chance to make the Commonwealth a better place, more than she'd ever been capable of sitting behind that stupid desk, doing the same thing day after day, and holy shit she was turning into MacCready.

The thought startled a laugh out of her, and she shook her head at his curious glance. "No way. Keeping that one to myself," she told him.

"Well, pick something else to talk about, then. I'm going crazy from all the silence."

River glanced up at his expression beside her, easy and open like she'd never seen him. Seemed she wasn't the only one feeling better after that morning. "Where did you get that scar?"

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then he snorted. "Which one?"

She stepped closer to him, his eyes widening when she slipped her hands underneath his shirt. Her fingertips tracing the long scar over his ribs made his breath catch. "This one," she said, smiling impishly.

Determination hardened in the deep blue of his eyes as he caught her by the wrist and leaned down to kiss her. He'd been kissing her more frequently lately - making up for lost time, perhaps. She wondered how many times he'd wanted to before, but couldn't work up the nerve. _As often as I did?_   "Deathclaw," he answered finally. "Snuck up on us out of nowhere in downtown D.C. It managed to get a swipe at me before Charon put it down. Leah went _crazy_." He chuckled darkly, his eyes distant with memory. "To be fair, it was a lot of blood. And she's got a soft spot for animals."

" _Animal_ is a bit of a stretch."

"Yeah, that's how normal people think," he agreed, laughter in his voice, and only MacCready could laugh without actually forming the sound of it.

"How old were you?"

"I dunno. Fifteen? Sixteen? Old enough to know that I was bleeding out. Young enough to try and make a joke about it. She almost slapped me."

River laughed, squinting against the bright sunlight. "Glad to see it's given you a little humility."

He just grinned, like the word didn't exist in his vocabulary, trouble to the bone like always, and why did she love that so much about him?

_Some handsome guy is gonna make you laugh, and you won't be able to help yourself._

Damn if that man hadn't always known what made her _River_ , inside and out. She owed his grave a visit, when they made it home. Probably should have done so _before_ she fucked MacCready, but if anybody would understand the impatient impulses of her body, it was Nathaniel Henry Mason.

She straightened her ponytail, shifting it higher on the back of her head, sensing the weight of his gaze on her. "Eyes on the road, hotshot."

That familiar smirk broke loose, and he gave a lazy shrug, all flippant masculinity. "What's the point of travelling with a beautiful woman if I can't appreciate the view?"

River tried to maintain her narrowed gaze despite the blush that crept up her cheeks. "Keeping me safe, you big flirt."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll always keep you safe." The promise came out with an easy reassurance, as if there was no doubting his words. And she certainly _felt_ safe with him, her anchor in stormy seas, her wasteland sherpa with the great ass, who made her laugh, protected her, gave her a hard time when she needed it. _Pun definitely intended_ , she thought with a rush of giddy amusement, her eyes admiring his shoulders as he walked. Now that sex was on the table, it was going to be incredibly difficult to get any work done around him. Even now, her thoughts betrayed her, drifting back to the rough palms of his hands on her hips, the way his voice broke apart as he came. She absolutely adored the sound of it, wanted to draw it out of him several more times. Sanctuary was still so very far away. . . .

From the look in his eyes, he was thinking along the same lines.

"Home," she said firmly.

MacCready chuckled, like he knew she was reminding herself as much as him. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed with a tip of his hat.

 _Smug fucker._ And she tried to scowl, but the smile won out. _Just how I like him._

* * *

Among all the preparations for retaking the Castle, River managed to find a spare few hours for herself. She broke away from the rest of the Sanctuary with a basket of whatever food she could find and climbed up the low hills behind town.

Nate's grave was covered in a dark green grass, roots threatening to brown, slightly less dry and brittle than the surrounding plant life. She dropped onto the ground, folding her legs up beneath her and setting the basket down at her side.

"Hey, honey," River murmured. She listened to the silence, the unending silence that responded, the whisper of wind through grass and the few trees that remained standing in the area. Her fingers twisted through the dry blades of grass beneath her legs. "I _saw_ him. I saw Shaun. In Kellogg's memories. God, that's one hell of a handsome kid we made. He's got my hair. I was a little disappointed. I'd hoped to see that pretty blonde of yours again. But he did get your eyes."

River sprawled out over the grass, white hair pooling under her head. "I haven't actually found him yet, but I'm getting closer. We're going into the glowing sea to find this scientist from the Institute. I guess that's where Shaun is. Nobody's found them yet, but I'm coming for them. And I've got some pretty strong friends."

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, reaching out to run her hands through the sparse grass growing over Nate's grave. Her cheeks burned, though she couldn't quite pinpoint the source of this reaction - some stomach-clenching combination of shame and embarrassment, and somewhere underneath, a thrill of excitement. "Speaking of friends, uh . . . I'm kind of screwing my mercenary. And I might be . . . kind of falling for him, I think. And I feel like a complete piece of shit, but I can't help but think about a certain conversation you and I had, all those years ago. When we were young and stupid and loved each other so much. Like I still love you now, and will always love you."

Sitting up, she gathered her legs in close to her chest and rested her cheek on her knees. There were thousands of thoughts racing around in her mind. _How do I explain what RJ means to me now? When I hardly understand it myself?_

_What would Nate want to know?_

"I think you would've liked him. He's a brat, but kinda scrawny. I feel like I could probably take him, if I had to. And I like that. But he's good with that rifle, and he keeps me safe."

The sun crept slowly across the sky, warm on the bare parts of her skin. Birds twittered somewhere in the distance, and she could hear faint voices drifting up from the town below. For a moment, she listened to the quiet, comforting music that was Sanctuary.

Finally River managed a faraway smile.

"He makes me laugh."

The knot of tension seemed to ease from the pit of her belly, and it was with a liberating sense of relief that she opened up the basket of food, and enjoyed one last picnic with the man she married.

* * *

Three long, busy days, they'd been back in Sanctuary, and during that time MacCready had seen hardly a glimpse of River. If she wasn't off preparing supplies for their upcoming journey to the Castle, she was going over reports with Preston, or overseeing additional defenses for the town before they'd be leaving with half of the Minutemen's heavy hitters.

Their recent intimacy left him with more than a few questions, but the days leading up to a big fight didn't seem like the right time to bring it up, and he could never seem to find a good moment. So he kept to himself during the days, looking through her horrible book collection, cleaning his rifle for the thousandth time, walking the perimeter of Sanctuary to learn the surrounding area. Tried to think of something, anything besides River, but his thoughts always drifted to white hair and soft skin, filled him with a longing so intense it made the hours drag on and on.

With the darkening of the sky overhead, his feet would lead him invariably back toward the truck stop, and the lights were always on when he got there. When he came to her the first night, that wistful, fond smile lit up her face, like she hadn't been sure he would show up. Like there were anywhere else he might go. And when they curled up together, she held him like a best friend, like an old lover, as if the universe started and ended in the bend of her arms around him and maybe it fucking did, he didn't know - it certainly felt like it, and he'd stay there as long as she'd have him.

The first two nights, River was too exhausted to stay up for very long. Mumbled a few words to him - _I'm so happy to see you_ \- genuine and simple and really all he needed from this old-world woman who had somehow set him free. And he listened to her breathing as she fell asleep in his arms, calming under the whir of the turrets outside. Sleep eased the stress and fear from the lines of her face, left her features _soft_ , open and free. He held her to his chest, near his heart, where he hoped to keep her.

MacCready had always been more of a survivor than a fighter, at least when it came to his own well-being. He'd gladly turn tail and run if it meant living to see another day, had done it a thousand times and felt no shame in doing it again. But being here with River, feeling her cling to him even in her sleep - it brought back waves and waves of steel resolution, things he hadn't felt in so long, since the days of leading his tiny family through the wastes, fighting tooth and nail to keep them safe.

 _Something to protect_ , Charon had told him once in a rare moment of introspection, gazing down from the top floor of Tenpenny Tower. Cigarette smoke hanging in the air between them, a faraway look in those glossy blue eyes. He could almost remember the sound of Leah's laughter ringing up from the courtyard, where she was teaching Bumble how to dance. _Only part of my life that ever made any damn sense_.

On the third and final night before they left for the Castle, he found River decidedly more energetic. She was singing to herself as she moved around the garage, a long-dead melody he couldn't recognize, hips twisting to the lull of her voice. He wished he could capture the moment somehow, find a way to open it back up for her to crawl into whenever the world was too much to handle, threatened to take yet more away from her, when she had so little left to begin with.

_Something to protect._

River twirled, arms stretching up over her head, and froze when she spotted him in the doorway. Her eyes widened and she dropped her arms immediately to her side, cheeks tinted pink. "RJ." She laughed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I didn't see you there."

MacCready pulled his hat off and chucked it to the floor, shrugging out of his coat. Her eyes roamed the planes of his body as he tossed his duster over the back of the couch. "'Nother busy day?"

"Yes." She let the word hang there, leaning in when he stepped closer. Her hair was pinned back but falling loose in waves behind her shoulders. He watched in fascination as she wet her upper lip, nibbled on the bottom one, had no fucking idea how tempting she was. Her eyes met his, and then the edge of her mouth broke loose from beneath her teeth to curve into a smile. _No, she knows_ exactly _how tempting she is._

He stood before her, offering himself, arms loose at his sides. Shrugged a shoulder in a silent question. _Well?_

River laughed, reaching up to tie her hair more fully out of the way as she turned for the bed. "Come on, then. I know just what to do with you."

MacCready almost stumbled over his own feet trying to kick his boots off. Felt his cheeks flush when she giggled, but he fucking _adored_ that sound. And her gaze was undeniably affectionate as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Shirt off," she told him - _ordered_ him, really, from the tone of her voice, the fingertips of one hand pressed authoritatively to his chest. And okay, maybe some tiny part of him was suddenly and surprisingly very into that, but if she thought he was gonna make it easy on her, she had another thing coming.

"The shirt off my back, huh?" he griped playfully, reaching over his shoulder with one hand to yank his shirt up over his head and toss it aside. Could barely keep the grin from his face when she tore her eyes from his chest to spear him with a glare.

"Pants, too," she added coolly.

 _Fuck_ , but he _liked_ bossy River. _And I can never, ever tell her that_. He didn't really know who he was trying to kid - he probably had _Please let me fuck you right now_ written all over his expression. But he fixed a scowl on his face as best he could, pulling his belt loose with painstakingly slow movements.

River perched on the edge of the bed, amusement in the gold of her eyes as she watched him. Seemed to enjoy the fact that he was taking his time. And he really couldn't complain about a beautiful woman looking at him like _that_ , like he had no idea what he was in for and she was imagining all the ways she'd like to show him.

When MacCready dropped his belt, she rolled forward onto the floor, _onto her knees_ , glancing up at him with that _fucking look_. She had the button of his jeans open and the pants sliding down his thighs in a matter of seconds. And then her gaze dropped to take in the sight of him, and she dug her teeth into her lower lip again, voicing a soft, feminine little noise.

"River . . ." he croaked, his voice like sandpaper in his dry throat.

River hummed appreciatively, lifting a hand to trace the hard ridge of his cock that strained beneath his briefs, twitching eagerly beneath her fingertip. Then she rose to her feet, a mischievous smile lingering on her face. "Get on the bed, RJ. I'd like to be comfortable for this."

 _Oh, shit._ He stepped out of his pants and crawled onto the bed, settling on his back to get a good view of her. She undressed slowly, starting with the buttons of her blouse, very much aware of his rapt attention. She stared back from under heavy lids, and when she peeled her shirt open, he drank in the sight of pale, perfect skin. Loved the scars on her body, the marks of a survivor, wanted to feel them under his mouth, trace his way down her ribs to the heaven between her thighs, taste her, please her, make her come -

The sound of her laughter broke his train of thought, bringing him back to the sight of her pulling open the hooks of her bra. "You keep looking at me like that, and I'm gonna want to skip all the good parts."

"The whole thing is the good part," he promised, too worked up to be any form of eloquent; from the curve of her smile, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. _Nobody gets me like you_ _do._

River knelt onto the bed, moving toward him on her hands and knees before reaching his lap. She leaned forward to kiss him and _my god_ she was good at that, nibbling teeth and clever tongue and little sounds like a satisfied purr as she ground herself against him.

All too soon - always too soon - she broke away, pressing one last kiss to the edge of his mouth. But immediately after he felt her lips on his shoulder, his collarbone, down the lean muscle of his chest. He sucked in a breath at the sensation of her warm mouth moving over his skin, sucking lightly at one of his hipbones.

River slid his underwear down his hips, biting back a moan when his cock sprang free. He felt her slim fingers curl around the base of his shaft, gripping him tightly. She glanced up at him, star-bright amber under dark lashes that burned up all the breath in his lungs. Her lips spread into a smile as she shifted her thumb to the head of his cock, stroking feather-light circles. His hips jerked uncontrollably in response, a groan rumbling in his throat.

She took one of his hands, currently fisted into the sheets at his side, and guided it to the base of her ponytail, held it there until he wrapped his fingers around her hair. She purred low in her throat, a sound of approval, and sent him one last heated look before dipping her head to kiss the tip of his cock. He sucked in a harsh breath, head swimming, didn't dare blink as he watched her trail her mouth down his length. Her tongue flicked out to lap at him, learning the shape of him, humming softly as she went. His hand twitched in her hair, tugged unconsciously at the strands in his grip, and he wouldn't have even noticed if not for the needy sound she made.

Admiration flashed in her eyes when she glanced at him again, her gaze lingering to enjoy the probably very dumbfounded look on his face right now. Then she ran her tongue up the shaft of his cock, lips spreading to take him fully into her mouth.

 _Fucking Christ_ _that's good_ \- the tight, wet heat of her mouth, and that devilish tongue, and _fuck_ , she was sucking gently as she took more and more of him. His eyes rolled back into his head, hands tightening into fists, pulling harder at her hair. Her throat vibrated around the head of his cock with her moan, startling an inelegant grunt out of him at the sensation.

"Mmmn." River pulled loose, wiping the edge of her mouth with a fingertip and smiling up at him. "I like that sound," she murmured, pleased. Her hand gripped him by the base, now slick with saliva, and slid tight up to the head of his cock.

MacCready struggled to think of a witty response, anything even remotely amusing to say, but the haze of lust and pleasure weighed his thoughts down. "You get whatever you want, angel," he told her earnestly, smiling when she laughed fondly.

"You're gonna spoil me." Her hand gave him a squeeze, wrenching a strangled groan from deep in his chest, and he couldn't tear his eyes from her lips, swollen and wet and smiling.

" _Fuck_ \- if you let me," he promised fervently, his voice rough and wrecked. "Any part of me you want, I'm yours."

River dragged the tight grip of her hand up and down his straining cock, squeezing gently when she reached the head, her eyes watching his face to enjoy every minute reaction in his expression. "You get awful sweet when I'm touching you," she teased.

"Like watching you smile," he admitted between his teeth, his whole body tense like a coiled spring.

River's expression softened, the heat in her eyes morphing into something else, something deeper, something foreign and lost and gentle. She leaned up to kiss him, a hand on his chest, palm over his heart. "I was going to drag this out a little, try to enjoy it a bit longer," she confessed quietly, that lovely flame in her voice that only he got to hear. Her lips grazed the lobe of his ear, making him shudder. "But now I just really, _really_ want to make you come."

MacCready opened his mouth, let out something like a laugh that was cut off abruptly by the twist of pleasure deep in his belly when she took him into her mouth again. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once, gripping the base of his cock, brushing down the seam of his leg. He felt her knuckles, feather-light and gentle, kneading the weight of his balls. Her throat squeezed him like a vice, and _Christ_ , River was _fucking amazing_ at this.

He'd been a married man once, young and in love, had his fair share of fumbling around in the dark with his late wife. Found out a few things he liked, and _surprise, surprise_ , this particular act made the list.

But this wasn't like anything he remembered. This was entirely new. This was a woman who absolutely _loved_ what she was doing to him, like she'd been thinking about this every day since she woke up. She flashed him fervent, hungry glances, and he could tell from the warmth in her eyes that if her lips weren't currently busy, she'd be smiling. And the _sounds_ she made, sweet, satisfied moans and murmurs as she practically worshipped him with her mouth - it was almost too much to bear. He twisted his fingers in her hair, hips flexing instinctively upward, chasing the tight heat of her throat.

It took all of his willpower to speak, sweat beading his brow as he struggled for words. "River - fuck - I'm gonna - "

"Mmhmm," she hummed, stroking the head of his cock with her tongue, pulling suction with her mouth as her hand worked the base of his shaft. Fuck, she hadn't been doing this long, but he was close, agonizingly close. He felt selfish for taking this pleasure from her, but he fully intended to return the favor - craved it, really, had been dreaming of it for days and days, parting her thighs and feasting on her, finally sating that deep, ravenous hunger that burned at the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck, fuck, River, _please_." It took him a few moments to realize he was speaking out loud, _begging_ , actually, so overwhelmed with sensation and hungry for her that the mere mental image of her thighs around his head reduced him to pleading. _That's all right. I can live with that._ He was a big enough man to recognize that the right woman could make him beg, and River was the very definition of the _right woman_.

MacCready tried to keep his hand gentle in her hair, but every pull or twist of his fingers only drew more pleased little sounds out of her. She swallowed, throat tightening around him, and with a few pumps of her fist, she pushed him over the edge.

 _Oh, fuck, fuck fuck fuuuuuck_ -

His eyes were shut tight, hard enough to see bursts of white amongst the black. He strangled out a groan between his clenched teeth, pushing deeper into her mouth as he came. He felt her throat working around him, swallowing almost eagerly, her hand stroking him through the waves of release. And through the fading bliss, he faintly registered the fingers of her other hand, braced on the bed beside them, lacing tenderly through his.

River swallowed one last time, running her tongue around the sensitive head of his cock before finally releasing him. The cool air chilled his wet skin, making him shiver as he pulled his underwear back up to his hips. She licked her lips and smiled in satisfaction, pulling away to let him catch his breath.

"Jesus," he exhaled, staring at her in awe as she rolled her head from side to side, stretching her neck. "That was . . . amazing. I mean, you didn't have to - "

"I know," she replied easily. "I wanted to. Since the night we killed Winlock and Barnes, I've wanted to." She laughed softly, her cheeks pink. "And you are an absolute delight, just like I knew you'd be."

MacCready shifted forward and kissed her, his hand gentle at the curve of her throat. His thoughts were a tangled, affectionate mess - he knew he _wanted_ , wanted to do so many things for her, but he couldn't find the right words in his fucked-out daze to voice them. He swallowed, throat dry, and his voice was rough when he spoke. "I want to touch you."

Her eyes were heavy-lidded and dark, the reflection of a nearby lantern flickering in the black pupils. She placed one of his hands at the slope of her inner thigh, let out a shaky sigh when she felt his rough fingertips. "Then touch me," she breathed.

 _Yes_. With his whole being, he felt the word. He nuzzled at her shoulders and chest as he slid her underwear down over her hips. Felt her fingers at the nape of his neck, urging him closer. And when he stroked his fingers over her silky folds, he choked out a pained sound. She was warm, and _wet_ , silky to the touch. He sucked his middle finger into his mouth, licked the traces of her arousal from his skin and groaned softly at the taste of her.

River whimpered, a helpless and hungry sound. "Jesus, RJ. That's . . ." Her eyes slipped closed and an enamored smile touched her face. "That's something I'll never forget."

 _Me, too, angel. I'll remember every part of you. It's fucking crazy, I'm still just getting to know you - it's stupid and dangerous but fuck me, I_ want _that with you._

She started to whine, impatient for him, and he couldn't help a smirk as he slid a finger into her. She ground down against him, the heat of her searing his knuckles. A second finger joined the first, stroking experimentally, aching to please her. She murmured encouragement and guidance, "Harder, deeper, oh _fuck,_ RJ _,_ there, _there_!" And, much sooner than he'd expected, she was stiffening above him, head thrown back, shattering against the force of her orgasm. Her sex squeezed tightly around his fingers, urging them deeper amongst a flood of warmth as she rode out the pulses of pleasure. When she finally relaxed, he pulled his hand free and kissed the warm skin of her shoulder, a contented rumble in his chest.

She slumped forward against him, panting for breath, and he caught her in his arms. "Hey - hey, you all right?"

"I'm fucking fantastic," River promised with a lazy grin. She pulled her hair loose from its ponytail and got to her feet. Grabbed his duster from the couch, pulling it over her shoulders to cover up while she checked the doors. It was _just_ too long for her, the tattered ends scraping the concrete floor, but he liked the look of it on her, the idea that something of his was keeping her warm.

River put out all but one of the lanterns and slung his coat over the back of a chair before crawling into bed with him.

_I should say something - anything - tell her what she means, what I would do for her, even if it's crazy. Even if it's foolish. . . . She's given me so much._

"Night, RJ," she murmured, pecking his jaw with a kiss. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams," he said back softly. "I'll see you in the morning."

That seemed a good enough promise for the moment, he thought. There were more promises to be made, a resolve he felt deep in the marrow of his bones, tying him to her - but for now, tomorrow was a good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family concerns and work have kept me very, very busy. Thanks to everyone who's still reading! I'm so grateful for all of you!


	18. Impact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of my amazing readers for your patience! Here's an extra long chapter to make up for it <3 <3 <3

It was still dark when River and MacCready left the truck stop that morning. And raining again, of course, because hiking halfway across the Commonwealth to exterminate some mirelurks hadn't sounded fun enough already. _Now I get to do it with wet boots. Fan-fucking-tastic._

Looked like it was too early even for River. Her eyes were narrowed, lids still heavy with sleep, squinting against the cold morning air. She reached under her hood and tugged the gray beanie down further over her ears, exhaling a puff of breath from between chattering teeth. For a moment, he enjoyed the mental fantasy of throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to bed, wrapping himself around her for another few hours of sleep. But they had a whole day's worth of walking ahead of them just to meet up with the other half of their team - and then an entire fort to clear out afterwards.

"Thought you were a morning person," he said her way, just because he liked to mess with her, and it wasn't often he had the upper hand.

River snorted. "I am. Sugar bombs and brahmin milk don't count as breakfast," she grumbled.

"Are you complaining?" He grinned. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"And what's got _you_ so chipper?" she demanded, glaring sidelong at him. "I've never gotten you up earlier than eight without you bitching and moaning."

"I'm always complaining," he reasoned with a shrug. Then he felt a touch of heat creeping up his neck, and he turned his head away to hide the damned blush he'd never been able to control. "It's cute when you do it," he admitted.

"Oh, yeah?" River smiled, then, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand with her fingertips before pulling away. They waited at the entrance to Sanctuary as one of the Minutemen on watch climbed down from his post to open the gate for them.

"Everyone's waiting just inside for you, General," he informed River, standing a little straighter now that he was addressing her.

"Thanks, Reggie. Norman," she added in greeting up to the other Minuteman, who nodded gratefully in response.

 _How the fuck does she know all their names?_ MacCready glanced back and forth between the two men, feeling their eyes on his back as he followed River deeper into town. He could imagine their conversation well enough once they were out of earshot, speculating about where exactly the General spent her nights - and the fact that her mercenary seemed to be spending them with her.

"Your Minutemen are gonna start to talk," he piped up casually, like he didn't really care one way or the other. She wasn't likely to fall for it.

"Let 'em," she replied, seemingly unbothered. Shot him an amused look, the hint of a smile on her face. "Should make for interesting gossip among the ranks."

"Interesting gossip," he repeated dumbly. "That's what we are, huh?" Then he winced - now wasn't exactly the best time for him to fumble his way through that particular conversation, and he really didn't want to ruin beautiful memories like the ones they'd made recently by introducing more concerns than they already faced. But the question still sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach, pulling at the back of his mind, filling every idle thought with worry.

River tugged at his sleeve, her eyes softening at the frustration on his face. "For now," she said finally. "Let's just survive today first."

At that, he rolled his eyes. "How many times I gotta tell you, you're gonna be fine. As long as I'm still breathing."

Her smile returned, warmer this time, filling him with heat. "I guess I wouldn't mind hearing it a few more times."

"Women," he muttered under his breath, winning an affectionate laugh.

Preston Garvey and Rodriguez's men were gathered in the makeshift armory they'd built up to replace one of the houses that hadn't survived the bombs. They stepped into the warmth of the ramshackle building, everyone nodding at River respectfully when she pulled the hood back from her head. They all looked about as tired as MacCready felt, and he felt a vindictive sort of gratification - _Schadenfreude_ , Leah had named it for him once. _I learned it from a courier I knew years ago._ _You should get it tattooed on your fucking forehead._

She always thought she was so fucking funny. And, okay, maybe he missed her a little bit, and the big guy, and all the rest of their crazy, insane family. He was too tired to keep out the thoughts of his son - sickly and bedridden, like the last time he'd seen him - and the little voice in the back of his head constantly counting down the time it would take that caravan to reach the Capital Wasteland.

"Bennett and their team left last night to set up," Preston was telling River. "They transported your power armor and minigun, it's all waiting for you at their camp."

"Excellent. So we're all set to go?"

Rodriguez gave an easy nod, teeth flashing white against his bronze skin as he smiled. "If you are, General."

She grabbed one of the militia hats from a nearby table and put it on over her beanie with a grin. "Always. Let's go take back what's ours."

Altogether, they made up a group of nine - ten including Dogmeat - large enough to draw attention from anything curious enough to track them, but with everyone armed and no sign of any caravan, they made for a lousy target. ("I'd love to see some raiders try to take us on," Rodriguez said with relish.) They left Sanctuary behind just as the sky was growing lighter with the rising sun. The rain eventually let up, once MacCready's duster was soaked plain through and his boots were heavy with mud. He heaved a sigh, pulling his hat deeper onto his head with a scowl.

River glanced over at him, and he just caught the amusement in her eyes before she turned back to her conversation with Garvey.

Dogmeat hung back at his side, occasionally wandering off to chase an interesting scent, but always trotting back to walk beside him. MacCready scratched behind his ears, chuckling when the dog's tail wagged in appreciation.

"He's a good hound," a gruff voice said to his left, and MacCready looked up to see Rodriguez's square jaw and dark goatee. "Had a few raiders get a little close to town last week. He caught their scent before they even reached the bridge."

"Yeah," MacCready agreed after a moment of sizing the other man up. He seemed . . . familiar somehow, but he was sure he would've recognized him if he was a gunner. "Have I seen you somewhere before?"

Rodriguez chuckled. "Not me, but if you've ever bought a gun in Diamond City, you've met my brother. Arturo sells weapons in the market there. Strong family genes." He gave a nod in River's direction. "Last time the General left for the city, I asked her to take a package for my niece Nina. General left two days earlier so she'd get it in time for her birthday." He shook his head absently, with a look on his face MacCready had seen a few times before, expected to see often in the future, too. A look he probably wore all the time. "She's good people, the General. . . . Anyway, I'm Hector."

MacCready shook the hand he offered. "MacCready. And . . . yeah. She is."

"Hope you stick around," Rodriguez added casually, squinting off into the distant sun. "We need all the good men we can get. And if you're looking for work, my team could always use a skilled sniper." He laughed again, under his breath. "Y'know, if she ever cuts you loose."

 _Is he . . . offering me a job?_ He realized Rodriguez probably had no idea about his history with the Gunners. River was the only one who knew - and the first thing she did when they got back to Sanctuary was vouch for him, use her influence to buy him a trust he hadn't earned. She'd slaughtered Winlock and Barnes, and then let that part of his past die with them - offered him a new start here, if he wanted it.

"Tell me you're not trying to steal my sniper from me, Rodriguez," River called sharply from behind them.

The Minuteman stiffened, turning to smile innocently at her over his shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it, General."

She raised a skeptical brow in his direction, all haughty suspicion and far too appealing. "Glad to hear it. I paid good money for him."

MacCready rolled his eyes. Some small part of him rather _liked_ possessive River - something about her voice when it was all hard and heavy with authority - but she certainly didn't need to know that. Just fuel to the fire, really. "You heard the boss," he said to Rodriguez with a shrug. Then he pitched his voice lower, conspiratorial: "Doesn't share well with others."

Rodriguez fought back a smile, tipped his hat in farewell and quickened his pace to catch up with the rest of his team. Wise enough, apparently, not to back-talk the boss.

That made one of them, at least.

The hours of walking stretched on and on, interspersed with conversation among the Minutemen. The rain came and went in waves of dark, heavy storm clouds, just often enough that they were never truly dry again for the duration of the journey. Every few hours, they stopped to rest. River would steal one of his cigarettes while the group patched up and reloaded, especially after the few bouts of trouble they ran into - raiders at first, easy enough to deal with, then mutants as they pushed deeper into downtown Boston. She hung back near MacCready, picking them off with loud, ringing shots of her sniper rifle. In the distance, he could see the bodies drop, the occasional head bursting into a streak of red viscera from her bullets. Something stirred in him like a rush of warmth, and once she lowered her rifle and turned to wink at him over her shoulder, he realized it was _pride_. He'd put that gun in her hands and taught her how to use it, and now she was unfuckingstoppable.

In the tight streets and alleyways of downtown Boston, they were forced to change weapons. River clutched her shotgun close to her chest, eyes sweeping back and forth, while MacCready pulled Kellogg's pistol from the holster at his side. With seven trained soldiers accompanying them and Dogmeat's keen nose at the forefront, any remaining trouble they stumbled into was swiftly sniffed out and eradicated, and they made it to the rendezvous point with only a few scrapes and bruises.

A heavy rain had settled in, blotting the sky overhead with gray clouds as they escaped the downpour and joined Bennett's team in a small, ruined building. In the distance, MacCready could just make out the dark, looming shape of the Castle's walls. He'd heard of the place before, even heard that it used to be a fortress for the Minutemen, but he'd never seen it for himself.

"Wow," River muttered beside him, pausing for a moment to take it in, her gray parka dark and soaked with rain, before ducking into the building. She pushed her hood back from her face with a sigh of relief once she was out of the storm.

A tall, broad-shouldered soldier MacCready now recognized as Ari Bennett practically towered over River as they came up to shake her hand. "Damn good to see y'all made it in one piece, General. Didn't want to start the fun without you."

"Couldn't have asked for better weather," River laughed, trying to shake the rain out from her beanie before giving up and setting that aside too. "But she's an impressive sight."

Garvey beamed proudly. "I was hoping you'd think so. Once upon a time, she was called Fort Independence, but the Minutemen always just knew it as the Castle."

"I can see why you wanted to take it back," she agreed. "She's awful pretty for pushing six hundred."

"That's right. They don't make 'em like they used to. We take this place back? People'll know we mean business." There was a collective cheer of anticipation from around the room, and Garvey waited patiently for them to quiet down before continuing. "Our primary objective is to clear the courtyard. That's where we should see the most opposition. The wall on this side is the most exposed, but if we circle around south, we could also reach the main gate."

River nibbled at her thumbnail, eyes flickering back and forth in consideration. "Well, we've got enough people here to be smart about this. I know the rain is gonna make things tough and - god help me - _ridiculously_ messy. I'm no strategist, but I think flanking the enemy is our best bet tonight. Rodriguez and Bennett's teams should cover the sides, and I can come straight down the middle. Give me five minutes to get set up, and I'll be ready to go."

Garvey gave a nod. "Understood, General. We'll split up and you can join us when you're ready." He scanned the room at large, meeting the gazes that were fixed on him for guidance. "All right, people, you heard the General. Let's move out! Get into position and wait for her signal."

The Minutemen filed out of the room, splitting off into two groups headed by their respective commanding officers. Garvey lingered behind to offer them the supplies scattered over the counter in the middle of the room before leaving to join the rest of the Minutemen.

MacCready leaned back against the counter, where River was staring down at the stimpaks in her hands. "You know, most of my bosses don't storm headfirst into mirelurk nests," he joked dryly.

She dropped the stimpaks suddenly onto the counter and yanked him closer by the front of his coat. He barely caught a glimpse of the fear in her eyes before they slipped closed and she kissed him, slowly, deliberately, as if she were memorizing the feel of him, like this might be the last chance they had and _fuck_ , he couldn't handle that. "RJ - " she whispered in a pained voice.

"Don't," he said firmly, gathering her hands up in his, cold from the rain and winds. "Don't do that. Please. This is just a pit stop. Just a bunch of mirelurks. You're gonna stomp 'em out like everything else that ever stood in your way, and I'll be there the whole time, watching you like a dumb schmuck."

That won a quiet laugh out of her, weary but genuine. "Okay," she murmured, then took a deep breath and said it again, steadier this time. " _Okay_. You're right."

"Yeah, well." MacCready smirked, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb. "What else is new?"

Her eyes lingered on his mouth, as if she might like to stay and kiss him a bit longer, and he'd never been one to complain about that, but there were twenty Minutemen standing outside in the rain waiting for her. Instead, she pressed her lips to his hands, his knuckles and fingertips and palms, and when she spoke, her voice was tender and quiet. "Stay safe, RJ . . . all right? I like havin' you around."

"Come on, you know you always get your way."

She laughed, the sound strained with unease. "If I should be so lucky. . . ."

He followed her out of a side door back into the rain, where her power armor was standing like a stony, silver sentinel, waiting for her to bring it to back to life. River had to half climb the thing to reach the latch on the armor, the muscles in her arms tensing as she twisted it open with a grunt of effort. With a hiss of compressed air, the armor slid open, providing just enough cover from the falling rain for her to stand under.

MacCready leaned down and held her face in his hands, felt her pulse racing beneath his palm as he kissed her one last time. She made this soft little noise under his mouth that pulled at his heart, and it felt like pins and needles under his skin when he forced himself to step away from her.

River studied his face, evidently liked whatever she saw there. A smile briefly touched her lips before they straightened into a determined line, and she turned to climb up into the armor. MacCready steadied her by the waist, barely pulling his hands out in time as the armor closed shut around her.

He slung his rifle over his shoulder and grinned at the unfamiliar sensation of looking _up_ at River. "You look ready to raise some hell."

"It's all I do anymore," she sighed, in a very _just another day in the life_ kind of tone, voice tinny and metallic through the helmet, and even though he couldn't see it, he knew there was a smirk on her face. The heavy boots sloshed through mud as she stepped back toward the building to retrieve her minigun.

MacCready followed closely behind River down the pathway to the Castle. Lightning illuminated the crumbling walls in bright flashes of light, followed always by a deep rumble of deafening thunder. If the rain soaking through his clothes wasn't enough, the winds whipped at his hair and face, threatening to pull the hat from his head.

"You picked a heck of a night!" he yelled over the sound of the rain and the waves crashing angrily against the shore, reaching up to hold his hat down.

"I didn't pick shit!" River hollered back. "What, can't shoot through a little storm?"

"I don't know if I've told you, but I _don't like being wet_."

"I might've heard it once or twice." Even through the helmet and the storm, he could hear her trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, laugh it up, General. You're buyin' me a new jacket when all this is over."

"I'll buy you whatever your wonderful little heart desires."

He squinted up at her through the rain, though he wasn't entirely certain why - the helmet offered no expression for him to glean any insight off of. "You will, huh?"

Finally her laughter broke free. "Oh, RJ. I would tear down the heavens for you." She shook her head, reaching out very carefully to rest the heavy metal hand of her armor on his shoulder, and even then he could feel the perilous weight of its strength. "So do me a favor and try not to get hurt."

Still somewhat stunned by her candid admission, he scraped together enough sense to scowl defensively. "Me? You're the one always taking bullets."

"I know," she shot back, still laughing. "At least in the armor, I can take it."

They came to a stop at the front wall of the Castle, where it had been reduced to bricks and rubble in the center. Through the opening, MacCready could make out the dark courtyard, littered with clutches of pale mirelurk eggs. He glanced up at the crumbled walls on either side, gauging the angle of their slopes before finally settling on the left side. "I'm gonna climb up for a better shot." He put a hand to the cold metal of her arm. "Good luck, beautiful."

"Hopefully I won't need it." She watched him shift the rifle higher over his shoulder and clamber up the rubble to the top of the Castle wall. After a few moments, and a close call or two, he pulled himself up to the top and waved down at her.

River reached for the flaregun at her hip and fired a shot into the air, where the streak of red arced over the far wall and into the waters beyond it. Lifting the minigun, she stormed through the rubble and debris into the courtyard, just as shouts of exhilaration were sounding from the Minutemen waiting outside the side walls.

MacCready could hear the resounding gunfire from her minigun down below as he knelt at the edge of the wall. River hardly made it five steps before the ground rumbled beneath her feet and several mirelurks burst forth from the mud around her. He shot one of them down right as it appeared, and the Minutemen on either side drew some attention from the others, but three of them made a beeline straight for River. They screeched and hissed in pain from the spray of her minigun, thankfully only managed to get a few weak swipes at her before she killed them all.

The courtyard lit up with jets of red from laser muskets and rifles, the rain and erratic flashes of lightning reducing the scene before him to chaos. A bursting sound somewhere behind him made him pull back from the scope just in time to see an entire nest's worth of mirelurk hatchlings crawling toward him.

He dropped his rifle and pulled Kellogg's pistol from the holster at his hip, quickly picking off four of them and stomping the last one beneath his boot. He grimaced at the crunch of its still-growing shell, and made a mental note to add a pair of new boots to the list of clothes River owed him - because he was probably burning this pair once this was over.

There were a few other Minutemen who'd climbed up onto the walls with him. The woman nearest him glanced over to the outside of the walls and cursed loudly. "Got more incoming, General!" she bellowed down to River in the courtyard.

* * *

The ground was slick and heavy with mud beneath River's feet, the weight of the armor causing her to sink if she didn't keep moving. A particularly close strike of lightning lit up the whole courtyard, and the dozen mirelurks pouring in through the far breach.

She grabbed for the grenades on her belt. "Explosives goin' out!" she screamed.

Calls of "Back up!" and "Grenade!" carried through the Minutemen around her, and once they'd cleared out of the way, she pulled the pin and lobbed the first grenade toward the stampeding force of mirelurks. The explosion sent mud and slime flying in all directions, killing three of the mirelurks on impact.

"General, on your six!"

River made to turn around, but the stray mirelurk got a strike off before she could make the full rotation. It snapped at her with its pincers with enough force to send her a few steps back. She swung her minigun at it in return, finger squeezing the trigger until the weapon roared back to life and shredded the mirelurk to pieces.

She glanced around the courtyard and found only the familiar shapes of her fellow Minutemen, focusing fire now on the hatchlings emerging from surrounding nests.

"Damn," Preston muttered, coming up to River's side as he reloaded his laser musket. "Looks like they've been nesting."

"Time for a little pest control?" She scanned the perimeter, breathing a sigh of relief when her eyes landed on MacCready, looking wet and miserable but uninjured at the top of the far wall.

"Looks like it." He raised his voice to address the rest of the men. "All right, here's how we're gonna play this: Everyone hold here in the courtyard and take care of any eggs you find. The General and I can clear the walls."

River followed Preston through a nearby doorway into a long, dark corridor. Her footsteps rang loudly on the stonework as she set her minigun down and pulled the combat rifle from her back. They moved methodically through the halls, clearing what nests they found, countless eggs reduced to gore and slime beneath her armored boots.

Preston watched her shake a loose bit of hatchling viscera from her foot with a faint smile on his face.

"What's up?" she asked, glad the helmet had hidden her disgusted grimace.

He shook his head, chuckling fondly. "Nothing, nothing, it's just . . . pretty remarkable, how far we've come. You especially. I admit, when I asked you to be general, I had my doubts -"

"You and me both," she grumbled.

He smiled and went on, ignoring her. "But you're the best damn thing that's happened to the Minutemen in a long time. I just wanted to say that, I know I made the right choice, and I'll be at your side every step of the way to bringing the Minutemen back. And . . . I'm proud of you." His cheeks flushed a little at the last words, and he was very careful not to look her way.

"Thanks, Preston," River said finally, with a rush of warmth at his words. "If anybody else had asked me to be general, I would have told them to fuck off."

"You nearly did," he said with amusement.

"Really?" She pitched her voice high, the verbal equivalent of twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I don't seem to remember. . . ."

"I believe your exact words were, 'Preston Garvey, are you out of your damn mind?'"

"Hearsay," she accused him teasingly, lifting her leg to squash another hatchling that attempted to flee once they'd killed off the rest of its clutch.

"The General speaks," he offered up just as innocently, "and I listen."

A tremulous roar sounded outside, followed by shouts of fear and shock from the Minutemen. Preston and River made for the nearest doorway as the ground shook beneath their feet, trembling and slick from the rain. Through the downpour, they all watched a massive dark shape come marching for the largest break in the wall.

" _Queen!_ " Preston bellowed at the top of his lungs, sprinting to slow the enormous creature down with River hot on his heels. "Everybody get back and give her all you've got!"

River felt a spike of ice-cold fear run down her spine at the sheer size of the queen that was barreling toward her. She could hardly hear the ringing of the minigun as it spun to life over the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding like a hammer in her ears. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted under her breath, taking measured steps back from the approaching queen. She'd never seen a creature so large - she towered easily over the Minutemen below, her height stretching just above the top of the walls around her.

With one quick swipe of a claw, the queen caught a fleeing soldier in the back and flung him into the nearest wall, where he impacted with the sickening crunch of breaking bone.

"No!" River screamed, lifting the spray of her bullets toward the queen's unarmored face. The creature recoiled with a shriek of pain, swinging blindly with her claws, clashing deafeningly against the stonework. The queen squealed angrily and - _is she spitting at me?!_

The green, viscous slime splattered River along the torso and side, clinging to her with a faint sizzling sound. The oversized mirelurk took the opportunity to attack before River could react, lashing out with the massive pincers at her sides. One sweep of the spiked arm caught River in the chest, knocking her off her feet. She landed hard on her back in the mud, the impact stealing the breath from her lungs. When she opened her eyes, the storm-darkened sky was spinning above her, rain pouring down onto her helmet.

River pushed up onto her hands, gasping for breath. Through the pouring rain, she could just make out the dark shape of the queen crawling away from her, back towards the far wall of the Castle. Whatever green muck the queen had hit her with was beginning to seep through the cracks of her armor and bite at her skin like flames. She staggered up to her feet and spotted the glint of her minigun where it had landed deep in a pool of mud. It took all of her strength to pull the weapon loose, and even then it was caked and dripping with wet earth. With a horrible sinking sensation, she realized it wasn't going to make it.

"She's comin' back this way!" Rodriguez bellowed somewhere in the distance. The sound of falling rain was shattered by the twanging kicks of laser muskets, setting off flashes of bright red against the queen's armored hide.

"Watch the acid!" someone else shouted back.

_Acid? That's what fucking burns so much. . . ._

River pulled more explosives from the pouch at her side, gritting her teeth past the pain of the acid eating away at her skin. Most of the Minutemen had ducked inside, away from her claws and her acid. The queen was in the corner and lashing at the only targets left - the men along the top of the wall. River watched in horror as MacCready and one of her soldiers rolled out from under a spray of acid that started dissolving the earth and egg shells where they'd been standing. Hurting and furious, the queen followed them as they made for the nearest staircase.

She was gaining, and quickly.

"HEY!" River screamed, storming after the massive queen as fast as her legs would carry her in the armor. Fear pierced her heart like ice, froze up the burn of the acid and the bruises and other potential injuries she hadn't had the chance to notice yet. All she saw was MacCready, dodging swipes of the queen's claws as he ran for cover.

"Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?!" she shrieked loud enough to hurt her throat as she pulled the pin from a frag grenade, letting it cook in her hand before pitching it at the queen's back with a line that would've brought tears to her junior varsity softball coach's eyes. The explosive went off the second it hit her shell and, enraged, she threw one last desperate claw at MacCready.

He was too far away, too high up, River could do nothing but watch as the force of the blow sent him flying back, feet slipping out from under him - and then he disappeared over the side of the wall.

"No! No, no, _no_!" She took off at a sprint for the mirelurk queen, who had turned in search of the newest source of pain. This time, she saw the acid coming and managed to dodge most of it, but, weighed down by the armor, the green slime still hit her legs. The hiss of compressed air somewhere to River's right sounded, followed by a loud boom and an explosion as one of Bennett's missiles caught the queen in the side.

River had a grenade in each hand when the queen reached the middle of the courtyard. She lobbed them at her legs, one after the other, her vision going blurry inside of her helmet as tears streamed down her face. The explosions set off like a chain reaction, crippling her legs in the process. She fell heavily onto one side, still upright but immobile.

Another missile came at her, followed by more grenades. One of the nearby Minutemen tossed River an extra laser rifle, and she joined in the fire. The queen hissed and tried to hit them with more bursts of acid before, with one last mournful screech, she finally succumbed to their gunfire.

River didn't even wait to see the queen's body slump before she was rushing for the wall where MacCready had fallen. "I'm gonna need help over here!" she shouted desperately to anyone who would listen, tossing the rifle in her hands away. "Get me a medic, _now_!"

* * *

MacCready remembered the queen coming up behind the wall, fast enough to catch them off-guard and enraged at the destruction of her nest. He remembered leaping out of the way of the acid, dodging her claws and rushing for cover. He remembered River's scream, barely audible in the distance.

He remembered the blow from the queen's claw, hard as stone as it knocked the wind out of him, and the _pain_ , blinding, searing pain.

Then flying.

Falling.

Impact - and agony, setting off like explosives and shrapnel all over his body.

_River -_

Then, blissfully, nothing.

* * *

Preston Garvey walked down the hallway of the Castle toward the General's quarters with a tray of food in his hands. As he passed one of the open doorways he caught a glimpse of the courtyard, where Tapp, Bennett's tech expert, was working on getting the radio set up. They'd managed to clear all of the remaining mirelurk corpses, and under the clear, sunny skies that had followed the storm, the Castle was hardly recognizable from the night they'd shown up.

It was a hell of a victory, taking it back - but it was hard to feel that way with the General still worried sick at MacCready's side. Preston had wondered about them, of course, suspected and speculated from the brief moments he'd interacted with the two of them. River was difficult to read, but MacCready tried a little too hard to hide everything behind a scowl around her.

One of the large wooden doors was open when Preston reached the end of the hall, but at the sound of her low voice, he paused just outside, wondering if MacCready had finally woken up. She spoke softly, in a gentle, measured cadence - reading something, he realized, just before the words hit him.

" _Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -_  
_because -_ _I don't know how to say it: a day is long_  
_and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station  
__when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep._

 _Don't leave me, even for an hour, because -_ "

And here her voice faltered, cracked with the sound of tears, something he'd only ever heard once from her before.

( _Preston, meet Nate. Nate, this is Preston. He's gonna help me bury you someplace nice, with a lot of sunlight._ )

She seemed to collect herself for a moment before she went on, restarting the verse from the first line.

" _Don't leave me, even for an hour, because_  
_then the little drops of anguish will all run together,_  
_the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift  
__into me, choking my lost heart._ "

Preston realized abruptly this was far too personal a poem for him to be overhearing. He took a few tentative steps back, the motion jostling the plates and glasses on the tray, clinking them loudly together. He winced when River fell silent inside the room.

"Preston? Is that you?" she called.

Fixing the surprise from his face, Preston stepped gingerly into the room. After helping Rodriguez lift MacCready out of the mud the other night, his blood running down their hands, they'd transported him carefully to the General's quarters, where Santos stabilized him as best she could while they cleared the muck and debris from the room. Preston had to drag River away from him to let someone look at her wounds - severe burns from the acid and deep lacerations that ran with blood, would definitely scar and would've been worse if she'd waited any longer.

River sat in a battered wooden chair at MacCready's side, hardly comfortable but the only furniture they'd been able to find sitting around. Dogmeat was curled up at her feet, staying close for comfort. She set the book in her hands aside and sat up, smiling at him as he entered. It was a good attempt, but Preston could see the lines of worry at the edge of her eyes, the hesitance in her smile that fell just short of convincing.

"You should eat, General," he suggested evenly. He placed the tray on the table at her side, then hesitated, his hands clasped in front of him.

"How's everything going out there?"

"Excellent. Tapp should have that radio up any day now. And the place looks pretty good without the storm and the mirelurks."

Finally the smile touched River's eyes, which darted over every few seconds to MacCready's face in worry. "I'm sorry I haven't been out there."

"Hey, you take your time. We do need you alive, though, so. . . ." He tapped the edge of the tray pointedly.

River pulled it into her lap with a weak chuckle and took a reluctant bite of melon.

Preston chanced another look at MacCready, one of his eyes purple and still slightly swollen from whatever had hit him in the face. Stubble was growing in around the normally decently-kept shape of his beard. For a moment, the two of them watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

"Maybe I just shouldn't . . . you know?" River murmured suddenly, her eyes fixed on MacCready's face, but distant, as if she were looking at him and also past him, at the same time. "Get close to anybody. They keep . . . they keep getting _hurt_." Her voice broke again on the last word, and she covered her mouth with a hand, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment to stem the tears there. "And I don't understand this world, I'm no good at it. I can't keep him safe, I can't keep anyone _safe_ -"

"River," Preston sighed, pulling his hat from his head and kneeling at her side. He took her hand and held it tightly, until her eyes opened again and looked to him for help, wide and desperate. He'd never seen the General look so lost before, not since the first time they met, when she'd wandered through the empty streets of Concord with nothing but the clothes on her back. "You just led the charge against the biggest mirelurk I've ever seen in my entire life. I've seen you take down raiders, and mutants twice your size. The wasteland is dangerous, and the people we care about get hurt . . . but that's no reason not to care about them. And I'll be the first to admit I don't know MacCready that well, but I know he wouldn't be here if he didn't think you're worth fighting for."

She let out a tentative, watery laugh. "No, he really wouldn't," she agreed in a small voice.

With an encouraging nod, Preston rose to his feet and placed his hat back on his head. "Keep reading to him, General. He'll wake up. We've got things handled until then." He was in the doorway when her voice stopped him short.

"Thank you, Preston." Then another short laugh. "And, uh . . . if you tell anyone about this conversation, I'll be forced to kill you, yadda yadda yadda, you know the drill."

He smiled innocently. "If I tell anyone about what, General?"

She nodded in approval, returning his smile as he closed the door shut behind him. She listened to the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway until she could hear nothing but the rhythmic waves on the other side of the stone wall behind her and MacCready's even breathing. Gingerly, hardly daring to touch him, she brushed the hair back from his face. He stirred briefly, and River's heart seemed to jump into her throat as she held her breath. His head tilted toward her hand, seeking her touch, before he fell still again.

Slowly, the hope and adrenaline eased from her body, left her feeling cold and empty. She reached for the book again and returned to where she'd left off with trembling hands. She cleared her throat and finished the poem, hardly louder than a breath.

" _Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;_  
_may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance._  
_Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,_  
_because in that moment you'll have gone so far_  
_I'll wander mazily all over the earth, asking,  
__Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?_ "

* * *

MacCready didn't wake up until later that night, when darkness had fallen and River's ass and legs were numb from sitting so long, her fingers cold from the freezing air and stone around her.

She turned to the next page, squinting to read the faded ink through blurry vision.

" _Come with me, I said, and no one knew_  
_where, or how my pain throbbed,_  
_no carnations or barcaroles for me,  
__only a wound that love had opened._

 _I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying,_  
_and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth_  
_or the blood that rose into silence.  
__O love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns!_ "

MacCready groaned suddenly, his breathing shallow, one hand twitching as if to reach for her.

"RJ?" River clutched the book to her chest, over her racing heart. She'd had so many false alarms, she was scared to hope again, but -

"River?" he wheezed, his eyes shutting tighter before slowly blinking open. "Fu -" A coughing fit interrupted him before the curse could make it out. "Am I dead?"

She gripped his hand as hard as she dared without hurting him, tears sliding down her cheeks at the sound of his voice. "No, baby." Taking a deep breath, she held his hand to the side of her face, relief like a lifting sensation in her chest when she felt his hand press back against her. "You made it."

"Glad," he mumbled wearily, trying for a smile.

Reluctantly, she got to her feet. His hand held weakly onto hers. "Stay here, I'm gonna get the medic, okay?"

"Not goin' anywhere," he chuckled, before wincing at the pain it caused.

She backed out of the room, slowly, couldn't bear the thought of letting him out of her sight now that he was conscious again, but eventually she managed to tear herself away and retrieve Santos.

The curvy, bronze-skinned woman was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she made it back to the General's quarters. River wrung her hands while Santos checked on MacCready - looked at his eyes, felt along his head, asked him about his pain, if he had any difficulty breathing -

" _Everything_ hurts," MacCready supplied helpfully.

"No shit, you got knocked off the top of the wall by a mirelurk the size of a building," Santos remarked dryly, sliding a syringe of med-x into his arm. "I honestly can't believe you're still alive."

River turned away, her hand curled into a tight fist, until pinpricks of pain broke through the heavy weight of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She rubbed her palm with her other hand as Santos packed her supplies up and slid her bag onto her shoulder. "He's healing up just fine. Gonna be tired and sore as hell, though. Keep him on the med-x, but only when he needs it, and mind the dosage."

"Thanks," she muttered, accepting the stimpaks and med-x syringes from Santos before the medic left, closing the door behind her.

MacCready watched her with curious eyes as she returned to his side. The hint of a smirk touched his face, and _god_ , she just couldn't imagine the pain of never seeing that smirk again. She wouldn't survive it. "Poetry, huh?" he croaked in a dry voice.

River helped him sip from a can of purified water, carefully, catching the excess when it dribbled down the side of his face. "It was my dad's copy," she answered after a brief moment of silence. "I guess I inherited an appreciation for it."

"Nerd."

They both laughed, until it reduced MacCready to another bout of coughing. River rubbed soothingly at his chest, and he smiled once it had passed, covering her hand with his. "How come I didn't see that book on your shelf? All you have at the truck stop is crappy romance books."

"Don't even start in on my books. You know how hard it is to scrape together a decent collection these days?" She wiped at the tears in her eyes. "I always keep this one on me."

He tried to fight back a yawn, but eventually succumbed to it, his eyes slipping closed. "Wanna finish that last one for me?"

"Yeah - yeah, of course." She kissed his hand, her lips lingering against his skin, then stood up to grab the wooden chair.

With a snort of exhausted laughter, he weakly patted the bed beside himself, slurred when he spoke from the med-x flowing through his system. "Come on, you know where I want you." He peeked one eye open just in time to see her flush that lovely pink, breaking out into a tired grin.

River helped him wiggle over to make more room, mindful of his injuries and the hiss of pain he held back between his teeth. Once he was settled and comfortable, she crawled onto the bed and stretched out carefully beside him. His fingers ran once through her hair, absently, as if reassuring himself that she was really there as she began to read.

" _That is why, when I heard your voice repeat_  
_Come with me, it was as if you had let loose  
__the grief, the love, the fury of a cork-trapped wine_

 _that geysers flooding from deep in its vault;_  
_in my mouth I felt the taste of fire again,  
__of blood and carnations, of rock and scald._ "

"S'a good one," he approved, leaning his head into her hand as she stroked his hair.

"I'll read it to you again sometime," she promised softly. "Naked, in the original Spanish."

He smirked, a sleepy, fond smirk, so affectionate and eager despite his exhaustion that it pulled at her heart. He fell asleep with his hand half-buried in her hair, and she pressed it to her face, felt the certainty of his hold slowly wash the panic and fear from her body. The pulse in his wrist pumped, loud and healthy, under the pad of her thumb, and she hurtled toward sleep counting each beat - reminded abruptly, on the cusp of unconsciousness, of the last two lines of another Neruda poem, soft and sweet in her memories like a ripe peach in summer, like the touch of velvet on her skin - like - like - like how she felt right now, next to MacCready, knowing he was near, and alive.

 _so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,  
_ _so close that your eyes close with my dreams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two beautiful poems are both by Pablo Neruda. First _Don't Go Far Off_ , then _Come With Me, I Said, And No One Knew_. And the lines at the end are from _Sonnet XVII_ from his 100 love sonnets.


	19. Aftermath

"Three fractured ribs, two broken ribs, muscle bruises, lacerations, acid burns, concussion," Santos listed off matter-of-factly from the clipboard in her hands.

MacCready nodded his head. "Yeah, that feels about right."

River's lips twitched toward a smile, though the rest of her face was lined with concern. Santos continued to poke and prod at his injuries; he was half convinced the medic just liked watching him grimace. When she edged her fingers along a particularly deep bruise, he couldn't suppress a groan of pain.

"Easy there, Santos," River spoke up, and there was no humor in her voice, just steely authority.

He fought back a smirk. At five-two, she wasn't a very intimidating picture, but she could probably stop a raging mutant in its tracks with the force of her voice.

Santos rose, brows pushing together above her dark eyes. She had the sense to look sheepish when she dipped her head in River's direction. "Right. Sorry, General. I'm more of an on-the-brink kind of medic. Not so good with patients who aren't on death's door."

"It's thanks to you that he's not," River said more kindly. "He's gonna be all right?"

"Yeah, he got lucky." MacCready snorted derisively behind her. She ignored him. "No permanent damage, just a few days of bedrest and a lot of pain. But even once he's healed up, he's gonna want to take it easy."

River nodded pensively, reaching out to shake the medic's hand. "Thank you. I think I've got it from here. I'll be sure to tell Bennett how helpful you've been."

At that, the woman's face hardened in determination. "It was nothing, General. I'm here to help." They watched Santos collect her supplies back into the leather bag at her side before she nodded respectfully at River and left. River trailed close behind her, closing the door once she was gone, her hand lingering there, pale and slender against the heavy wood.

MacCready steeled himself with a deep breath and picked up the tray in his lap, food mostly untouched, and leaned over to set it on the table. Pain seized in his body - it was almost unbelievable how _much_ pain, and in manifestations he'd never felt in tandem like this before: aching ribs and tender bruises and searing burns all compounding on top of each other to make every motion complete agony. The tray faltered in his hands, but he managed to drop it above the table, where it landed with a clatter and a plate slid from the edge and shattered on the floor.

River started at the sound of breaking glass, rushing over to help him sit back against the pillows. "You shouldn't be moving," she scolded. He studied her face as she fussed over him. She looked tired, her smooth skin marred by a few cuts and burns that hadn't healed over yet, dark shadows under her normally bright eyes. At the feeling of his hand tracing the side of her face, River fell still.

"Were you hurt?"

She blinked, surprised by his question, and quickly shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Scrapes and bruises. We . . ." Her lips twisted down at one end, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to steady herself. "We lost two men," she said finally in a faint voice. "But you were the worst injuries we had."

MacCready tipped her chin up with his finger, drawing her gaze back up to his and reading the doubt there. "That's not your fault," he told her firmly. "And neither is me getting hurt."

River shook her head, digging in her heels, but he took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her slender, soft fingers. The despair slowly eased from her eyes, until she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, claiming his mouth. He slid his fingers through her hair, rumbling deep in his throat when she shifted closer.

"Besides. . . ." And MacCready closed his eyes, leaning his head back and savoring the soft velvet of her fingers running through his hair. "I'd fall off a thousand walls for you," he promised, the med-x Santos had given him earlier kicking in and leaving him blissfully warm.

River hummed fondly, then he felt her lips against his cheekbone, feather-light over the fading bruise on his face. "Stubborn," she muttered, and he could hear the smile in her voice, too relieved to hold any real anger at him.

"To the _bone_." He smirked. "Just like you. You haven't left that chair since I got here, have you?"

"It's comfortable," she deflected with a fair imitation of one of his shrugs.

"Could never complain about a beautiful woman at my bedside." He wound the growing length of her bangs back behind her ear.

River pressed herself as close as she dared without hurting him, her fingers squeezing tightly at his. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. You never should've been out here."

"River." He put his lips to her forehead and slung an arm over her shoulder. "It's fine. I'm gonna be okay. This won't be the last time I get my ass kicked."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she mumbled in a small voice.

MacCready curled his hand around the nape of her neck, felt the delicate bones and muscle there beneath her soft skin. "You fought for me. You barely knew me, but you fought for me and my son. You risked your life to help me. Why wouldn't I do the same for you?"

"I told you, you don't owe me anything."

He slid his thumb up over her lips, holding them still. If he didn't get the words out now, he wasn't sure he'd ever say them. "I'm here because I can't stand being apart from you." He swallowed, heart pounding in his ears as his words nearly started to run together. "I want you so bad it hurts. You're all I think about, and when I sleep I _dream_ about you. I know I'm young, and I'm dumb, and selfish, but I'll spend the rest of my young, dumb, selfish life keeping you safe, if you let me."

Her eyes widened, honey amber warm and wet with oncoming tears that caught in her lashes. "You really mean that," she whispered, hardly louder than a breath.

He nodded slowly, conviction like steel in his voice. "Every word. I thought I lost the only chance I ever had. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not scared, or that I know what the hell I'm doing, but being with you - that's worth holding onto. And it's worth fighting for." He pressed her hand to his face and held it there, leaning into her touch when her thumb brushed tenderly over his cheekbone. "I want that with you. Don't you?"

River leaned down to kiss him, her fingertips tracing along his jaw, down the curve of his adam's apple to his collarbone, greedily drinking in the contours of his body. _Christ, she must've really been scared._ "Yeah," she breathed, curling closer into the crook of his arm. Her mouth brushed over his throat, soft against the shadow of stubble growing in. "I do. I want you all to myself." Then a sultry little laugh. "Does that make me a bad person?"

He chuckled under his breath, practically floating on the rush of affection and med-x currently flowing through his system. He could hardly even feel his wounds anymore. "Almost as bad as I am."

"Oh?" she murmured, and pressed a kiss to a bruise on his shoulder, tongue lapping out at his bare skin. "You've been bad, too?"

It should've been criminal, how quickly she could work him up with that sinful sweet voice and the blunt edge of her teeth over his pulse point. "Yeah," he gulped, angling his head back to give her wider access to his neck. It was just about the last uninjured part of his body, but if she wanted it, it was hers. She hummed in approval, and he managed a nearly hysterical laugh. "Real bad."

River kissed the edge of his mouth, caught his lip for the briefest moment between her teeth. "Tell me," she coaxed him, her voice like smoke and silk that sent a shiver down his spine.

"This pre-war lady hired me to watch her back," he began in the straightest voice he could manage, watching her try to fight a smile. "She paid me good money, and helped me save my son." He leaned forward as far as his battered body would allow and nipped lightly at the skin just below her ear. "And I can't get her out of my fucking head."

She wet her lips, shuddering at the proximity of his voice. "That doesn't sound so bad."

MacCready smirked, and her gaze lingered on the shape of his lips. "I think about kissing you, everywhere." He nuzzled his face into her throat. "Touching you 'til you scream. Wrapping your legs around my head and never coming up for air."

Her breath caught in her throat, amber eyes dilated under heavy lids before they slipped closed. "Shit, RJ, we can't," she whined, even as one of her hands hunted down the tensing muscle of his stomach, drawing dangerously close to where he was aching and hard for her. "You're more bruise than person right now."

"You'll be gentle," he assured her, grinning against her collarbone. "I trust you."

"You're such a shit." With a fond laugh, she wriggled out from underneath him. "And you're gonna set your healing back by a _week_ if you keep this up."

MacCready reluctantly let her go, settling back against the pillows with a disappointed sigh. At least he got to enjoy watching River try to play it cool, smoothing her hair back even as the rosy flush to her cheeks gave her arousal away - the same flush, he knew, that colored her breasts and throat when she came.

She pinned him with an intense look, running her fingers lightly down the bare skin of his chest. "Where'd you learn to talk dirty like that?"

"Nowhere," he shot back, smirking. "Call it a, uh . . . calculated risk. You get all squirmy when I talk. As for the dirty part." His eyes flashed with heat and amusement when he shrugged. "Just speaking what's on my mind . . . boss."

The hungry way she narrowed her eyes sent a thrill of anticipation through him. She looked like she wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face, and even with his injuries, he would've loved to have seen her try. His whole body tensed up, every nerve on edge as her hand drifted lower, lower -

Three sharp, loud knocks at the door made River freeze, poised above him. She ducked her head with a sigh of frustration. "Damn it. _Damn it_. Don't go anywhere," she joked, unable to keep the smirk from her face despite her annoyance at the interruption.

MacCready rolled his eyes, swiping up a book from the side table. "Good one."

River straightened the lapels of her coat as she crossed the room, tucking her hair back into place before pulling the door open to reveal Preston Garvey. Dogmeat slipped through the crack and bounded over toward MacCready, putting his paws up on the end of the bed until he laughed and ruffled his fur. The sound of violins piped throughout the halls, blaring triumphantly through speakers Tapp had been setting up all day.

"General," Preston greeted River with mild surprise, as if he hadn't been sure she was going to answer. He tipped his hat in a gesture of respect - a compromise, after several conversations about her discomfort with saluting. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"It's no problem at all," she lied gracefully, and if not for the memory of her mouth on his throat only moments ago, MacCready might've even fallen for it himself. "How can I help?"

"A woman just showed up asking to speak with you - one of the old Minutemen."

River frowned, tugging thoughtfully at the end of her ponytail. "I didn't think there were any of those left."

Preston smiled. "Neither did I."

"I'll be right out."

He waited patiently outside while River collected her hat and pecked MacCready on the cheek. "If you need anything -"

"I'll try yelling," he deadpanned, smiling when she laughed.

"Keep him safe, boy." She scratched behind Dogmeat's ears, earning herself a happy _woof_. "And _in bed_."

The hound licked her hand in an affirmative, before leaping up onto the bed and curling up next to MacCready's legs, ears up and alert.

River left MacCready thumbing through the pages of one of her books and followed Preston down the hall. She was struck by how clean everything looked - he must've had Minutemen working around the clock to get the place back in working order. Again she felt a pang of guilt for locking herself away, putting the brunt of the weight on Preston's shoulders, and not for the first time.

"Hey, General," he piped up, the ghost of a smile on his face. "When we were fighting the mirelurk queen. . . ."

River raised a brow at him. "Yeah?"

"Did I hear you tell her to pick on someone her own size?"

She burst into laughter, and the sound of his deep, belly laugh followed immediately after, teeth flashing white behind his smile. "Uh, you might've, yeah," she said, embarrassed. "MacCready says my taunting needs some work."

"I liked it," Preston replied, still chuckling. "And, ah . . . some of the others did, too. It's kind of made its rounds through the ranks."

"Oh, no," she groaned, grateful, for the first time ever, that MacCready wasn't with her. "What the heck does that mean?"

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "They admire you. You ran at that queen all covered in mud and acid and fought her right beside them in the pouring rain. They're . . . inspired."

They stepped out into the courtyard, and River peered around at the open space. A handful of Minutemen were stationed around the radio in the center, Tapp sitting at the desk with a microphone in front of him. Bennett had stuck around to help settle in, and was currently carting a large crate of steel across the courtyard, weathered face lighting up when gray eyes landed on River.

"General!" Bennett hollered, waving a wide hand in her direction.

River nodded back with a smile, following Preston over to an older woman in dark green fatigues standing near the far wall. Her face was lined and weathered, hair clipped short to her head, stern features all business as she extended a hand.

"Ronnie Shaw, Commonwealth Minutemen," she introduced herself curtly. "I've been waiting to speak with you."

"Hopefully not for too long. General River Bautista."

Ronnie's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "General, yes. Heard you were trying to get the Minutemen back on their feet. Thought I'd come see the new General for myself." She had almost half a foot on River, but she refused to drop the taller woman's gaze. "So what's your story? What makes you think anybody even wants the Minutemen back?"

River set her shoulders, dropping into what MacCready had affectionately named her _General voice_. "All the men and women and children who have asked for our help. Who live in safer settlements now, because of the work we've done. Every day, more people join our cause, and together we're gonna turn the Commonwealth around."

The older woman looked unimpressed, but Preston just about had stars in his eyes.

"All right, all right, enough with the soapbox," she said gruffly. "I've been a Minuteman longer'n you've been alive, I don't need the rally cry."

River fought a smile. "Sure," she allowed, just as Preston hid a cough into his fist. "What can I do for you, then, Shaw? Speeches are really what I do best, but whatever you need, I'll do what I can to help."

"Lord help me, you're a smartmouth," Ronnie sighed heavily. "Lucky for you, I've heard some good things about what you've been doing. Wouldn't be here otherwise. Now that I am, I can see you really need my help. I'm probably the only one alive who still remembers this, but the Castle's armory was located in the west bastion." She lifted a dirt-marked hand to point out the large metal door currently blocking off one corner of the Castle. "It looks like it might still be intact, at least. Door's still sealed . . . bastion hasn't collapsed. Only trick now is finding a way in."

"I'm open to ideas," River hinted.

Ronnie snorted in amusement. "If we can't go through, we go around. Let's have a look at the northeast bastion. Used to be a tunnel leading from the General's quarters to the armory."

Preston and River fell into step behind her as she took off at a brisk pace toward the northeastern corner.

"Sorry, General, I, uh . . . never heard of Ronnie Shaw before," he apologized just loud enough for her to hear. "Must've been before my time."

River shrugged. "I like her. No-nonsense and grumpy is just my type."

Ronnie threw open the double doors and stopped short at the sight of MacCready's surprised face and Dogmeat standing in front of the bed, snarling defensively, the hackles raised at the back of his neck.

"It's okay, boy," River called quickly, dropping to a knee beside the dog, who relaxed at her touch and licked her face. "This is Ronnie. She's grumpy, but she's a friend."

Ronnie muttered in irritation under her breath and turned to inspect the rubble-blocked doorway in the corner of the room.

MacCready watched her with mild interest, a stack of comics and books at his side. "I think that way's blocked," he offered up with a cheeky smile.

"Gee, thanks for the help," Ronnie growled without turning around.

"I'll go get some shovels." Preston disappeared through the doorway.

River moved to the side of the bed and picked up one of the stimpaks. "How do you feel?"

"Perfect. All better. Y'know, if you get me my clothes, I can even help you dig."

"Nice try." She slid the needle into his arm, picking up the sheet to glance underneath and grimacing at the bruises that still covered his skin.

The sound of shifting rubble drew their attention back over to Ronnie, who had grabbed up a wooden board from the floor and was using it to scrape back layers of crumbled rock. "It's not so deep. Shouldn't take long for us to clear the way."

"We diggin' for treasure?" MacCready asked, his hand rubbing affectionately at hers, and even that small gesture made her cheeks feel suddenly so warm.

"Something like that."

As if on cue, Preston reappeared with three shovels, tossing one each to Ronnie and River, and between the three of them, they managed to clear the rubble and debris from the doorway and into the room.

"Sorry, General," Preston said sheepishly, as Ronnie Shaw continued without another word down into the tunnel. "I'll help you clear it later."

"I can do it," MacCready offered.

"If I come back and you are anywhere but in that bed, so help me god, MacCready. . . ." she warned him, letting the threat trail off open-ended.

One of his brows shot up in a silent question at the sound of his last name, before his eyes flickered back and forth between her and Preston's retreating back in the tunnel, putting two and two together. He'd given her his first name like a gift. It only made sense to protect it.

Affection and gratitude passed over his face before he rolled his eyes and put on a scowl. "Fine. You know where I'll be," he sighed, slouching down low against the pillows.

As an afterthought, River snatched up her combat rifle where it was resting by the door and slung it over her shoulder.

"Be careful," he said, his expression solemn, then his lips turned up into a smirk. "I'll be thinking about you."

River barely suppressed a shudder, quickly turning away and hurrying down into the darkened tunnel, the sound of MacCready's chuckle echoing behind her.

Past another set of heavy wooden doors, Preston and Ronnie stood waiting for her in a long, dust-hazy hallway. They passed under dark pipes, stepping over bricks and debris and the occasional frag mine that River quickly disarmed and shoved into the pocket of her coat. Dim red bulbs illuminated the underground tunnel in low blooms of light as they wound deeper.

Ronnie peeked around the next corner and chuckled in surprise. "Well, I'll be. I never would've guessed the Sarge would still be down here." She stepped out from behind her cover with a wave of reassurance. "Don't worry, it's one of ours."

River watched as a sentry bot against the far wall powered up, red glow coming to life in its face plate. It lifted the miniguns that were its arms in a clearly aggressive position, and in a metallic, inflectionless voice, Sarge declared, "Comparing intruders to known Minutemen roster. . . ."

"Uh, Ronnie," River started anxiously. "I don't think we're gonna be on that roster -"

"Error," Sarge went on. "File corruption detected."

River grabbed Ronnie by the scruff of her fatigues and yanked her back behind cover, just as Sarge came charging forward. The sentry bot swung a metallic arm and it made impact against the stonework just beside them with a resounding crack.

"Stay back," River called over the deafening roar of twin miniguns, drilling into the brick beside the doorway where they hid. She quickly pulled out all of the mines she'd gathered and held them ready in her hands, steeling herself with a few deep, steady breaths.

"General," Preston warned her, recognizing the look of determination on her face.

"I'm gonna lead it away. You two shoot while its back is turned."

"General!"

But Sarge's fire finally faded, reloading, and River was already gone, somersaulting into the room. She tossed mines behind her as she moved from cover to cover, bracing herself as Sarge activated each one in pursuit. The boom of explosions and bent metal rang around the confined space, interrupted by gunfire. River was down to the last mine in her hands when she heard the sentry bot finally clatter to the ground behind her, the whir of its power systems faltering before shutting down completely.

She pressed herself against a pillar, gasping for breath, muscles burning and overcome with adrenaline. _Jesus, after the two hundred mark, shit like this really gets tough._ The sound of gunfire eventually reduced to a low ringing in her ears - _Tinnitus, the wasteland common cold_ \- as she brushed the dust from her arms and Preston and Ronnie came up beside her.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed, General?" Preston demanded.

Ronnie merely chuckled in admiration, clapping River hard on the shoulder. "You sure know how to get the job done, I'll give you that."

River wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve, finally managing to catch her breath as Ronnie started typing at the terminal for a security gate. She cursed under her breath after a few incorrect attempts until she finally remembered the password - _United we stand_ \- and the metal gate swung open.

They followed her into another open brick room. Ronnie knelt down beside the dead body of a bald man, huddled up on the floor near a desk. "That explains all the landmines," she muttered, rising to her feet again. "General Bautista, meet General McCann. He ran the show back when I first joined up. He must've gotten trapped down here when that sea beast attacked the Castle. . . He did manage to keep the armory secure, I'll give 'im that much." She picked the hat off of McCann's head and handed it to River. "I guess the uniform's yours now, if you want it. This old geezer doesn't need it anymore." After a small moment of silence, Ronnie sighed. "Rest in peace, General. Your fight is done and your Minutemen live on."

With Preston's help, River undressed McCann's corpse with as much dignity as possible. There was no blood, at least, no major wounds or exposed bone, just sickly, pallid skin, gone stiff with death.

River shook the dust and dirt loose from the general's coat. At Ronnie's expectant look, she threw it over her shoulders, wrinkling her nose at the stale, musty scent.

"Not bad," the older woman approved. "Come on, armory should be just a little further."

They passed another set of wooden doors and climbed a crumbled stone staircase into another alcove much like the others that made up the Castle interior walls.

"There's your switch." Ronnie pointed out a button on the wall near the other side of the blocked doorway.

"Gonna open it up!" River called to the other side in warning before hitting the switch. With a heavy squeal, the rusted metal arm on the other side slowly lifted the bastion out of the way.

A few Minutemen on the other wide peered at them in interest, nodding and smiling at River when they saw her.

The armory was located at the west end of the Castle - a wide, open room shaped like her quarters, except the stone walls were lined with work benches and shelf after shelf of ammunition crates, weapons, and turrets. River ran her fingers along one of the shelves, peeking inside some of the crates to see boxes of enough ammunition to fill the pockets of every Minuteman wandering around the Castle.

"Now _this_ is the real buried treasure," Ronnie declared, bringing a set of blueprints over to her.

River scanned the diagrams for an artillery cannon and whistled, impressed, before handing them over to Preston with a grin.

"I'll start getting the pieces together," he agreed, something like relief in his tone. He seemed happy to have more to work toward. It was a trait River envied.

She ended up leaving the armory under Ronnie Shaw's expert supervision, as the only person who had really known about it in the first place. She and Preston were deep into a conversation about wall defenses when River left them and retreated back to her quarters, her muscles and lingering injuries aching now that the adrenaline had faded. She stopped to fill two buckets with water from the pump and carried them back to the room.

"There you are," MacCready greeted her with a grin when she walked in. "Thought you forgot about me."

"Never," she promised.

"Nice jacket. A little long for you."

"I'll get taller boots." She sat down beside him with a weary laugh, moving the books out of the way. "It's about time I changed your bandages."

"Yeah, okay." MacCready searched her face, blue eyes tracing her features intently. "What happened down there? You're filthy."

" _You're_ filthy," she retorted petulantly, shrugging out of her coat and laying it over the back of the chair. "C'mon, Dogmeat, off the bed." She followed him to the door to let him out before coming back to the bed. "That big metal bastion outside was blocking the armory," she explained as she started to pull the sheet back from his body. Most of his chest was covered in white gauze and cloth, what little bare skin was left littered with bruises. Her heart went cold at the sight. "We had to go around."

"I read some of those poems," he said suddenly, his tone carefully casual. Distracting her, she realized, as he reached over to tap the cover of her father's book.

River set to work gently unwinding the cloth around a burn on his bicep, focusing intently on causing him as little pain as possible. "Did you like them?"

"I guess, yeah. I mean, I'm not really a poetry kinda guy, but . . . some of 'em are nice." He cleared his throat, his breathing growing shallow as his body tensed, anticipating pain. "He, uh . . . signed his name on the inside. Your dad."

"Uh-huh," River prompted, somewhat absently, trying to peel the gauze from his skin as lightly as she could.

MacCready gritted his teeth, steadying himself with a few deep breaths before continuing. "His name was Joseph?"

"Joseph Bautista, yeah. He grew up in Chile with my grandmother. All the translations written in are by him. He liked to do it in his spare time . . . said they reminded him of home." Suddenly she was overwhelmed with memories, buried so deep she couldn't remember the last time she'd even thought of them. Her grandmother's little cottage on the coast, a cut of dark wood against stretches of sand and sea-green waves. Warm seawater and summer air, humid and hot. Picking sweet peaches, fresh from the tree, fingers sticky with their juice. Her skin, so much paler even than her father's, always sunburnt by the end of the trip. And the sound of her grandmother's Spanish, poetry in itself, so wonderful and beautiful to her as a child, almost mystical in its rhythm - different from the Spanish she learned later in college, much to her disappointment. The memories were fragmented and hazy, but some of the fondest she still kept from her far distant youth.

"That's my name, too," MacCready said abruptly, bringing her back to the conversation and the realization that he had definitely succeeded in distracting her. "Part of it, anyway. Robert Joseph . . . is supposed to be the whole thing."

"Robert Joseph MacCready," she tested the words out together, smiling at how they felt on her tongue. "That's a handsome name."

"It's a mouthful is what it is, so . . . I've always just been RJ. Or MacCready."

River picked up a pair of medical scissors and sliced carefully through the bandaging around his chest. It wasn't until she put them down and started pulling the cloth open that she realized he was staring expectantly at her.

"What?" she asked, cheeks pink. "You know my name."

"All of it?"

She sucked at her teeth, refusing to meet his gaze as she removed the last few feet of cloth from his body. "No," she said finally, and heaved a dramatic sigh. "My full name is River Proud Mary Bautista. My dad picked it," she added quickly. "It's one of the only things my mother ever liked about me, and I hated it."

MacCready was silent for a beat, nodding ever so slightly as if repeating them in his head, before finally trying out loud. "River Proud Mary Bautista." And he smiled. "That's the most beautiful damn thing I've ever heard."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Shut up."

"I mean it," he insisted, his brows twitching together. "You _are_ proud. Even when you don't need to be. Sometimes when you shouldn't be," he chuckled. "I love that about you."

His praise - and the tone he said it in, warm and rich like good chocolate - sent shivers of heat down her spine. She dipped a clean cloth into the bucket, wringing the majority of the water back out before pressing it to his bare shoulder. He flinched at the cold temperature, but slowly relaxed again under her touch.

"It's from a song," she explained, her mouth going dry as she drew the wet cloth over his body, leaving skin and taut muscle cool and wet. "Proud Mary."

"You wanna sing it for me?"

Her laugh this time was deeper, rougher, curling up at the end like flames. "Another time. If you get me drunk enough, maybe."

"I'll remember that." MacCready leaned his head back, closing his eyes and sighing in relief. She rubbed his skin clean of dirt and sweat, pausing occasionally to wet the cloth again, mindful to skirt around his burns. The skin had knitted together after all the stimpaks, and he certainly looked better than he had even a day ago. "I got a pretty good memory, you know. Even if I did hit my head."

"Do you?" she wondered teasingly, patting him dry with a small towel.

"Yep. And I seem to remember you promising me another poem."

"I suppose I might remember something like that." River picked up a spool of binding and unraveled a short length to rewrap the burn on his arm. "Anything else?"

He grinned, pleased that she was playing along. "Something about Spanish. And you . . . naked."

"You _do_ have a good memory," she agreed softly, eyes bright with anticipation as she moved onto binding his chest. "You also have bruises and burns and broken ribs."

"Those're healing," he countered without missing a beat.

"And I'm _filthy_ -"

"I'll wait."

River couldn't help another laugh at his persistance. "I've missed you, too," she breathed, taking hold of his hand to kiss the pads of his fingers. "But I don't want to hurt you. We really shouldn't."

"Nothing strenuous," he promised, sliding his hand down her forearm. She glanced up at his face, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's just . . . I've been dying to taste you for _weeks_ , and I don't think I can wait any longer."

Her lips parted in surprise, that perfect fucking blush coloring her cheeks as she broke out into a coy smile.

"So I figured," he went on, while he had her hooked, "two birds, one stone. You read, and I'll . . . listen."

Fuck, was there anything better than the sound of her laughter? "Well," she said, slightly breathless, and he mentally congratulated himself for flustering the great and sensual River Bautista. "That's certainly a compelling argument. I suppose I need to clean up, so I might as well start with the naked part."

MacCready linked his hands behind his head, leaning back to get a better view. "Mind if I watch?"

"I'd be hurt if you didn't," she replied, amused. She propped one foot up onto the chair to unlace her boot, and then the other, kicking them off into the far corner. His eyes followed her fingers as she unbuttoned her flannel shirt and let it drop to the ground at her feet. "So what's with this sudden need to . . ." She trailed off, struggling for some elegant way to express what they were dancing around.

He spared her the trouble, unwilling to tease when he so savored that little bit of bashfulness in her. "It's not sudden. And I've never . . . I've never gotten to do  _that_ before, for anyone."

River paused, halfway through sliding off her pants. "Really?" she asked, tilting her head sideways and regarding him with a curious look. "Not even . . . ?"

"Lucy was . . . practical." He smiled. "More than me, even. She, uh . . . didn't see the point, I guess. And I think she was a little embarrassed, so she never let me. But that doesn't mean I never wanted to."

Her eyes were sad when she stepped out of her pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor. "That's too bad. It's a treat." She reached back to unhook her bra and free the pale curves of her breasts, pink nipples taut in the cool air. Then he watched her hook her fingers into her underwear, and the sight of white cotton drifting down her thighs scattered the thoughts in his head, breaking apart the words just as he'd started to pull them together. He lost himself in the glistening pink of her sex, flushed and wanting. After a moment, her giggle made him aware that he was staring, but a sight like that was enough to make a man speechless - even him.

She dragged over the second bucket and wet a new cloth, held his full and complete attention as she used it to bathe herself. She washed the grime from her face, dragging the wet cloth down her neck and shoulders, over the swell of her breasts and her soft stomach. He wasn't a religious man, but it felt like something sacred, letting her wash him and tend to his wounds - and she looked like an actual angel now as she cleaned herself, white hair clinging to the damp skin of her shoulders and back.

MacCready exhaled a measured breath, dizzy with want. "Should I, uh . . . should I pick a poem?"

River ran the cloth over her ankles and feet - those delicate little feet, always too small for any of the boots she found, resulting in blisters and calluses on the tender skin. "No need," she purred, smiling like there was some joke he was missing out on. "I know the perfect one."

"By heart?"

Another sultry laugh. "We'll find out."

Eventually River set the bucket aside and rose to her feet, and his eyes roamed her body as she drew nearer. Her skin was not as pale as when he'd first seen her, stained a lovely warm bronze from the sun. There were new scars he was unfamiliar with from their most recent battle, and others he recognized - a burn mark on her leg from the fight at the interchange, a long scar down her side, from a deathclaw, just like his.

"Jesus, you're fucking beautiful," he sighed.

She wet her lips, kneeling down onto the bed above his shoulder with a shy smile. "You'll tell me if I hurt you?"

He groaned impatiently, rolling his eyes. "Of _course_. Come on, I want to hear your Spanish."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Laughing to herself, River swung one of her thighs over his head. He glanced up at her face, catching the sight of her biting onto her lip as she adjusted herself over him. Then his eyes dropped to her silky folds, inches from his face, pink and slick for him already. She had a small beauty mark near the seam of her thigh, and he kissed it, feeling her shiver above him. His hands came up to hold her hips, squeezing appreciatively at the flesh there.

River stared down at him, her expression split between awe and desire, tucking her hair behind an ear.

MacCready smirked. "I'm all ears."

She scowled like she wanted to chide him for his teasing, but took a deep breath to steady herself instead, eyes slipping closed momentarily as she searched for the words. " _Tengo hambre de tu boca,_ " she began, a faint smile lingering on her lips. " _De tu voz, de tu pelo_." The smoke of her voice wove seamlessly around the foreign syllables, blending together at the vowels so that he could never be sure where one word ended and another began, and if he thought her voice was beautiful before, it was a genuine miracle in Spanish. " _Y por las calles voy sin nutrirme, callado_ -"

And here MacCready's tongue lashed out to taste her thigh, teeth and lips lazily trailing higher. Sweat and skin hit his tongue, salty sweet, the heat and smell of her close enough to make his head swim.

River sucked in a sudden breath, letting it out slowly before she continued. " _No me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia, busco el sonido l_ _í_ _quido de tus pies en_ _el d_ _í_ _a_ _._ "

He dragged his tongue up her sex, parting her folds, tasting slickness and heat. He felt her fingers slide into his hair and grip lightly for support. Her hips flexed under his hands, twitching away from and back toward his mouth in turns. He lapped at her every time she drove back down, letting her set the pace as he studied her with his mouth.

" _Estoy ham -_ " He heard her gasp sharply above him when he craned his neck up to press a kiss to her clit, tongue flicking out to stroke once over the swollen bud. " _Hambriento de tu . . . tu risa resbalada_." Her voice carried the last vowel out into a sigh, rough and wanting. " _d-de tus manos_ \- oh!" Her other hand joined the first in his hair, thighs trembling on either side of his head. " _Tus manos! Color de furioso granero!_ "

MacCready was grinning as he traced circles with his tongue, before closing his mouth over her folds and pulling suction that made her cry out, her nails digging lightly into his scalp. His cock was hard and straining within his briefs, hips rolling in a fruitless pursuit of friction.

"Shit," she hissed in English, head tossing back. A high, desperate whimper sounded in her throat, hands pulling at his hair as she ground herself deeper against him.

He sucked one last time at her clit before pulling back by an inch. "Keep going," he urged her, equal parts smug and aroused. He licked the taste of her from his lips and smiled, taking in the lovely flush to her face, her pupils wild and dilated. "Fuck, you look so good."

River's voice scraped around a low laugh, sending shivers down his spine. " _Tengo hambre de la . . ._ " She faltered, then finished the rest of the line in a low, practiced rhythm, like a song she hadn't sung in years," _la pálida piedra de tus uñas_."

Satisfied that she was falling back into the cadence of the poem, he lifted his mouth to her sex again, tongue rolling insistently over her clit, coaxing another drawn-out moan from her lips. She clutched frantically at his hair, tugging just short of pain. " _Fuck_ , RJ," she gasped, then started the next line before he threatened to stop again. " _Quiero_ , ah, _quiero comer tu piel . . . como una intacta almendra._ " She swallowed empty air, confidence growing as she picked up speed. " _Quiero comer el rayo quemado en tu hermosura_."

He trailed his tongue lower, dipping into her, groaned when he felt her clench at him, aching for more. Jesus, he felt like a fucking superhero. He hadn't known it was possible to feel so powerful while lying on his _back_ , but she had a new, enticing little noise for every flick of his tongue and they were driving him into a mindless frenzy. It was like part of her was still frozen, and the heat of his mouth was like flame against her sensitive skin. All he knew was River, and even when his wounds began to throb in protest beneath her weight and he started to grow light-headed, she was all he wanted.

"Ah, _god_! _La nariz soberana del arrogante rostro_." Then she laughed again, edging toward hysterical, and he didn't know any Spanish, but the cognate he understood well enough. If she was lucid enough to make jokes, then he needed to work a little harder. " _Quiero comer la sombra fugaz de tus pesta_ _ñ_ _as_ ," she went on fluidly, smiling breathlessly when she got through the line uninterrupted.

MacCready sucked at her clit in measured draws, stroking with his tongue only sparingly, so that she started to buck up eagerly into each pass. His fingers dug into her hips, trapping her against his mouth. He shifted one of his arms under her thigh until his knuckles brushed over the dripping heat of her sex, sliding easily over the sensitive folds, slick with saliva and arousal. He felt her thighs clench on either side of his head at the sensation, and when he slowly started to ease his middle finger into her, she trembled and moaned above him. "RJ, _please_ ," she begged him, her hands clutching fistfuls of his hair. "Fuck, baby, please."

He huffed out a breath of satisfaction. It was probably some dumb, primal part of him, but he _really_ fucking loved it when she begged. He teased at her clit with feather-light touches, glancing pointedly up at her.

River was watching him in fascination, lips swollen and parted. Her teeth clenched and she threw her head back, hissing in frustration. " _Y hambriento vengo y voy . . . voy olfateando_. . . ." She started to rock her hips, panting heavily as she teetered on the edge. " _Olfateando el_ _crepúsculo_ _,_ _buscándote, oh_! - _buscando tu corazón caliente._ " She wet her lips, biting down on the lower one to stifle another moan. " _Como un puma en la soledad de Quitratúe!_ " The last word she recited with a resplendent finality, singing through the vowels like the name of a lover, familiar and rhythmic.

MacCready rumbled beneath her in approval, stroking hard with his tongue and pushing a second finger into her. Her arousal trailed warm down his knuckles and hand as he pumped his fingers deep, sucking her folds gently into his mouth.

" _Baby_ ," she gasped, high and strained. Her hips seized up above him, trembling with tension, and then she dropped her head like a puppet cut from a string, body shuddering as she sobbed and whimpered through her release, cunt gripping at his fingers as if to hold him there forever, and at the moment, he really couldn't imagine any better place for them.

River slumped forward, catching herself against the headboard. Still quivering, she lifted herself gingerly off of MacCready, who dragged in a deep gulp of air. He grinned up at her as he caught his breath, face wet and shining.

"Nice poem," he croaked, voice cracking with need. "That one might be my favorite."

She watched him lick his lips for a moment, hunger simmering in the gold of her eyes, before reaching over for her shirt and using it to wipe his face clean. " _Tengo hambre de tu boca_ ," she murmured, still breathless, her thumb brushing over his swollen bottom lip. She smirked when he nipped at the pad of her finger. "In English, it's called 'I crave your mouth."

The words stoked at his lust like an open flame, making him ache to take her - grab her by the hips and drive her down onto his cock, watch her ride him until she came, over and over and over. "You'll have to teach me that one," he said with a shaky laugh. "'Cause I crave yours _all the time_."

"Mmn," she hummed, already trailing gentle bites down his chest. Her clever little fingers slid under his briefs and gripped the base of his cock, drawing a gasp from his lips. She was dipping her head before she'd even pulled his underwear back, wrapping her lips around him with a moan of relief, as if she'd been waiting all day to have his cock in her mouth. He hissed between his teeth as he sank further into her mouth, hitting the barrier of her throat and then - _fuck_ \- pushing deeper. Her hand pumped the last few inches of his cock, slick with excess saliva, and her tight grasp sent off bursts of electric pleasure over the already blinding nirvana of her throat around him.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his hands in his hair and tugging lightly. River stared up at him from under her lashes, lips thick and wet around his cock. _Jesus, what a sight._ He felt her tongue flick over the sensitive head, tracing the circumference, flitting along the very tip. Then her lips sank deeper again, and the tight suction of her mouth had his eyes rolling back in his head.

River lifted her head, licking her bottom lip with an impatient sigh. "You have no idea how badly I want to slide down on top of you," she told him, low and throaty, her eyes dark with lust. Her hand curled around the base of his cock and slid up to the tip, agonizingly slowly. "Ride you and feel you come inside of me."

Heat itched like a fever over his skin, her words startling him into a clumsy, " _Jesus_ ," that hissed through his teeth. His cock twitched in her hand at the mental image - he could practically _feel it_ , her tight, wet heat squeezing around him as he spilled inside of her, reckless and dangerous and so fucking hot.

"I know, baby," she breathed when he let out a pained whine, pumping his hips into her hold. "I want that, too. Another time, I promise." Then she took him into her mouth again, the tight grip of her hand never relenting its insistent rhythm as she sucked him off. His hips bucked in time with her hand, head thrown back with his eyes screwed shut. The thumb of her free hand rubbed soothing circles into his thigh, her mouth sinking down to the very base of his cock, sucking hard as she drew back up, and with the taste of her arousal on the back of his tongue, he let out an anguished groan and came. His pulse pounded like a drum in his head, and his chest heaved for breath through the crashing waves of his climax. River hummed, swallowing him down and swiping him clean with her tongue before pulling away, looking mighty pleased with her work.

"Holy shit," MacCready gasped, running his hands over his face, fingers and toes still tingling from his orgasm.

River flopped down onto the bed beside him and he drew her into his arms, ignoring the dull pain from his injuries. They were both quiet for a long moment, catching their breath and savoring the proximity and afterglow, until she pecked the edge of his jaw with a quiet laugh. "So you were pulling my leg, right? Because there's no _way_ that was your first time."

"Swear to god," he laughed, holding a hand up in testament to his honesty. "Beginner's luck."

"It's that smart mouth of yours."

"That, and your body is crazy sensitive." His hand slid down over her ribs to her hip, cupping her ass appreciatively. "And soft . . . and smooth, and _sweet_ -"

"Oh, no," she groaned into the curve of his throat. "Now you know you can turn me on by _talking_."

"You're done for, Bautista."

River snorted with laughter, pulling the sheet up over them and curling up into his side. "Go to sleep, dork. I need you better."

MacCready leaned his cheek against the crown of her head, inhaling the smell of her hair. It wasn't the normal vanilla he'd come to expect - she must've forgotten to put it on. She smelled fainter, natural, clean air and the lightest salt of sweat, like distant ocean waves. He felt her fingertips tracing the lines of his palm, lazy and languid but still awake. "Hey, you didn't mean that - what you said during . . . did you?"

She pushed up on an elbow to meet his gaze, her face so much calmer now that she'd had a moment of respite. "I did, actually. I, um. . . ." She glanced away, eyes darting about the room like they did whenever she was trying to word something carefully. "I can't have kids anymore. I had . . . difficulties, with Shaun's birth. We both made it out fine, but they had to perform an emergency hysterectomy."

MacCready's brow furrowed while he tried to process this information, and River went on. "So, you know, there's no risk of me getting pregnant or anything. I'm just particularly _fond_ of that feeling, so. . . ." she trailed off with a bashful smile.

"I'm sorry," he said, ducking his forehead against hers. "I can't imagine. I-I mean, Duncan wasn't exactly planned, but I always knew I wanted kids. And I love that kid so damn much. . . . I just - I'm sorry."

She shook her head and kissed him softly. "It's okay. I got to have a beautiful son, and he's out there somewhere . . . safe, it seems like, at least for now."

"We'll find him," MacCready promised her resolutely. "No matter what it takes."

Something like apprehension passed over her features before she hid her face against his shoulder again. "Thank you, RJ. For being here."

"Anything," he answered simply. He held her until she fell asleep, quicker than usual after the nights she'd spent half-awake on the chair, waiting for him to wake up. He couldn't sleep, even after a spectacular orgasm like the one she'd just given him. Too many days trapped in bed left him with little else to do, and he probably hadn't been so well-rested in years. He ran his fingers through her hair, pure white like spun silk over his rough hands.

It was hard to ignore the lifting sensation between his ribs, like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest - a sure sign, clear as day, one even he couldn't miss. It was far too late for him, and there was no going back. He'd fallen for her, River Proud Mary Bautista, the pre-war ghost with a song for a name.

And now she felt like _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, last poem, I promise, I'm just weak for Neruda, and a _total_ language nerd.  
>  _Sonnet XI, or Tengo Hambre de tu Boca_.


	20. Resolution

River dabbed at her bleeding lip, the wound throbbing with pain under the pressure. Her glove and shirt both came away crimson and she grumbled in irritation, trying to decide if the split lip or her pride hurt more. Over the course of her post-apocalyptic journey so far, she'd saved lives and taken them; she'd been shot at, burned, blown-up and knocked on her ass more times than she could count. She was starting to think she had seen and suffered it all - getting _cocky_ , stupidly enough, whether as a result of her own ego or a dangerous proximity to RJ MacCready was anybody's guess (though she would've put her caps on the latter).

And then she'd stepped into the dust-thickened classroom of South Boston High School, where the last remaining raider had been lying in wait, having just overheard the efficient slaughter of his friends outside. He swung so quickly she didn't have a hope of reacting in time. All she got out was a high squeak before his fist made impact with the side of her face, and her head snapped back against the doorframe. Pain flared like bursts of starlight over her mouth and the crown of her head.

She'd dropped her pistol in surprise, but the blade she kept sheathed at her hip and the rage of being punched in the face were enough to retaliate in kind. She carved a streak of split flesh diagonally across his chest and watched in speechless horror as it ran crimson with blood before his body crumpled to the floor. The same blood still stained her boots, the caps and ammo in her pockets, but she'd learned by now to tolerate the gore as an occupational hazard. Wasteland life had a lot of those.

MacCready was waiting for her when they came up the winding pathway, leaning against the outer wall with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"General," Preston said politely, exchanging a nod with MacCready before disappearing past the newly erected wooden gates into the Castle.

"Miss me?" she asked him with a coy smile, drawing toward him almost instinctively. Something in her ached always to be near him, filled her with warmth whenever they were together.

MacCready's eyes narrowed at the bruise quickly developing around her split lip. He tossed his cigarette away and caught her chin in his hand, pushing forward off the wall to inspect her face closer. "The hell happened here?"

River scowled, cheeks pink with embarrassment. "I got punched in the face," she muttered reluctantly, following it with a harsh laugh. "Punched a general in the face, can you believe the nerve?"

"No," he answered firmly, and then he dipped his head to brush his lips over the uninjured side of her mouth. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, the blue of his eyes cool with anger. "I want to find the guy and rip his hands off."

"I would've liked that, but I handled him." She held up her blood-soaked gloves as evidence. "I was mad, it got a little messy."

The tension slowly eased from the line of his jaw, and he let out a hard laugh. "Yeah, being punched in the face will do that to you."

River started toward the gates with an amused smile and he fell into step beside her. "You're telling me that brash, smart-mouth MacCready has been in a fistfight before?"

"How do you think I got to be mayor?"

She laughed. "I'd assumed diplomacy."

"You know me better than that. And Princess still hates my guts for it." At the horrified look on her face, he held up his hands defensively. "She was bigger than me back then! Trust me, if you knew Princess, you'd understand. We were a bunch of kids - fistfights were how we solved pretty much all of our problems."

"Well, that was my first one." She stopped at the water pump, filling a metal bucket halfway with icy cold water. "Looking back, I probably could've handled it a little better."

MacCready took the bucket from her before she could lift it. River studied him through narrowed eyes, catching the way his jaw clenched and his shoulders went tense. "Come on," he insisted, and with a huff of disapproval she followed him down the corridor back to her quarters.

He set the bucket down slowly, as if to prove that he could do it, and she'd never doubted his capability, only the necessity of putting additional strain on his healing body. But of course he did it anyways. She watched him put a hand to his other shoulder, rolling his arm to test the muscles there.

_You drive me absolutely crazy, and I never want to be apart from you._

River dropped her gaze, the realization leaving her wide-eyed and thoughtful as she pulled the tattered coat from her shoulders and hung it over a nearby chair. She reached up to let her hair down, but he caught her hands before she could smear blood into the white strands.

"Good call," she agreed, smiling gratefully. She took the chance to admire his features as he lifted his arms to help, the broad shape of his jaw, skin smooth and clean-shaven around his beard. She'd walked into her quarters yesterday to the sight of his bare shoulders hunched over a bucket, lean, sinewy muscle tensing under tan skin as he shaved with a straight razor. There were still a few shallow cuts where he'd nicked himself, and the thought of him cutting himself shaving was so inexplicably endearing, she felt a sudden rush of affection for him. Strong, overwhelming affection that seeped through her body like a shot of good whiskey, warming the ache from her tired muscles and bones. It was a feeling she recognized, though some small part of her recoiled instinctively from the thought, refused to put a name to the need for him that grew in her like madness.

He carefully extricated the band from her hair, releasing the mass of white waves down her back. She felt his fingertips teasing the strands loose, then brushing her hair back over her shoulder, baring her throat to his questing mouth. His hands and lips on her were deliberately gentle, as if she were made of porcelain - something precious and delicate that might disappear right out of his arms if he wasn't careful enough.

"RJ," she whined, her voice breathless and hungry around his name. "I'm covered in blood."

"I'm gettin' to it," he shushed her, amused. "Keep your shirt on."

"That's the bloodiest _part_ -"

" _River_." But he was laughing, shaking his head against the curve of her neck. He gathered one of her hands up in his and started sliding the glove loose, kissing her pale fingers once they were free from the stiff leather. Her left glove quickly followed the right one, tossed aside on the desk behind him, and she shivered at the feel of his warm lips sliding over her knuckles. Then he paused, and she felt his thumb stroke the base of her ring finger, where the skin was bare and bone-pale, covered up until very recently from the Commonwealth sun.

"It's okay," she breathed, reading the caution in his eyes when he glanced up at her. "I'm just gonna hold onto them, for now. For Shaun, when he's older."

MacCready kissed the valley of her palm before moving on to her shirt buttons. He pushed the faded blue flannel back over her shoulders, peeling the still damp sleeves down her arms and chuckling at the disgusted grimace that passed over her face. Her wrists and forearms were streaked with dark crimson, and she stared at the deep color against her skin with troubled eyes.

"You really made him pay, huh?"

"He caught me off-guard, and I dropped my gun in surprise. So I panicked and slashed at him."

"Must've swung pretty hard to kill him."

"Hard enough to do the job, but . . . it wasn't quick by any means." River stared off at the far wall as he worked her belt loose, her voice falling flat. "He just sort of bled out on the ground, breathing loudly, looking at me like he wanted to kill me."

His hand clenched into a fist around her belt, the leather creaking in his tight grip. "River. . ."

"When Preston came in, he was choking on his own blood - "

" _River_. Hey." MacCready cradled the side of her face, angling her head up until she met his gaze, amber eyes blinking back into focus. "It's okay. Talk to me."

She shook her head and reached absently for the bucket, dipping her hands in to rinse the blood from her arms. "I'm tired," she told him in a low voice, wincing at the cold water on her sensitive skin. "And I'm scared."

He retrieved a towel from her bag and wrapped it around her arms once they were clean, patting them dry through the rough tattered material. "That's the thing about the wasteland," he said, lips pulled up at one side in a half-hearted attempt at humor. "Everybody's tired and scared."

"Hmn." She pushed up onto the desk behind her with a huff of breath, amused but not quite laughter. The light blush to her cheeks deepened when he filled the space between her thighs. "Well, at least I fit in."

MacCready smirked, watching her shrug into a new shirt and start on the buttons. "You couldn't fit in if you tried, angel."

"Why not?"

"Where do I even start?" He ran his hands down the gentle curve of her spine, savoring the warm, soft skin beneath his palms. "Too _clean_ , for one thing. Too smart. Too good. Way too fuckin' pretty." At the sound of her laughter, he smiled. "Want me to keep going?"

"I think I got it. Flirt." With a faint smile, River tugged him closer by the lapel of his jacket and wound her arms around his neck. "Thank you. Maybe it's crazy, but sometimes I feel like you're the only thing that makes sense anymore."

He chuckled quietly, trying to stifle it when she pinned him with a curious look. "Sorry. It's not funny, not really, just - all this time, I kept thinking you're the one part of my life that _doesn't_ make sense. . . My whole life, I've had bad habits and worse luck. It only makes sense that everything sucks for me. And then there's you, actual-angel-from-heaven River, and for some reason, you want to waste your time on a guy like me."

She put her fingers over his mouth. "I told you not to talk like that," she scolded him, her voice pitched low and stern, sending twinges of heat down his spine. "And I'm not an angel."

"Okay, maybe you're not. But only 'cause no angel could ever use their mouth the way you do."

"I can live with that," she said with a weak smile that faded quickly back to wherever it was her smiles went to when they weren't lighting up his life. "What I can't live with is the thought of you getting hurt again. I keep having these nightmares where I lose you, and I wake up so scared I can't breathe." She held his face in her hands, searching his expression with sad resignation. "Would you do something for me, RJ? If I really needed it?"

"Anything," he promised at once.

River hesitated. When she found the words, they felt heavy and wrong on her tongue, like her body knew what she was trying to do and putting up a vehement fight. "Please don't come to the glowing sea with us."

As soon as she voiced the request, his face darkened into an obstinate scowl. "Anything but that," he amended firmly.

"RJ, _please_. Nick and Hancock are already risking their lives coming with me. I can't ask you to make that risk, too."

"Like you did for me?" he challenged. "The fact that I got hurt doesn't change what you've done for me. And even if I didn't owe you my life for that, I'd _still_ follow you into the glowing sea."

"It's not just the glowing sea. I'm going up against the entire _Institute_. I have no idea how I'm going to pull it off - or if I'm even gonna make it that far." She paused, wavering under the intensity of his gaze, deep blue grown dark with frustration. "I would give up anything to get my son back, but I can't afford to lose _you_ on the way. I'm not strong enough." Her voice cracked and broke under the weight of her confession, and she dropped her gaze, sucking in a deep breath. "You're somebody's _father_ , RJ. Somebody's son. And you were both before I ever dragged you into all my problems."

His brows swept down over his eyes, hands clenching into fists on either side of her. When he spoke, his words were clipped and combative, a familiar tone of voice she hadn't heard in weeks - back when they'd first met, before he trusted her, a realization that stung like blades, digging in between her ribs. "Don't do that," he pleaded with her, uncertainty and doubt drawing him toward anger. "This isn't about Duncan."

"Of course it is. Now that there's a chance he could get better, he needs his father to come home alive - "

MacCready pushed away from the desk, away from her, gripping his hair by the roots. "I'm not having this conversation," he refused flatly, shaking his head. He paced back and forth in front of her, burning off excess energy to calm himself. "I told you back in Goodneighbor I'm coming with you. Nothing's changed since then."

River watched him with guarded eyes as he drew closer again. Some of his tension seemed to ease in her proximity, but he didn't touch her, a painfully obvious absence that gripped at her heart with cold fingers. "I have," she whispered softly. "I'm - " _falling in love with you._ "I'm scared out of my mind."

"I know. I _know_." He sighed, and gathered her hands up in his, cradling them lovingly between his palms. His jaw and shoulders were still rigid with tension, but he handled her as tenderly as he ever had, holding her fingers to his lips. "But River, I am begging you. I would do anything for you, just please - _please_ , don't ask me to stay. Don't leave me behind."

River felt her eyes start to burn with tears. His anger had stung, but this was far worse, his voice raw and hoarse as he pleaded with her.

"Everything's going to be all right, as long as we stay together," he insisted, with all the confidence of a promise. "We'll find Shaun." His calloused fingertips traced over her hands, the slender knuckles and long nails with chipped purple lacquer, like there was some secret there in the delicate bones and skin if only he could translate the contours into meaning.

"All right," River said after a long moment, drawing his eyes back up to hers. "I'm not happy about it, but . . . I should've known there's no dissuading you."

A triumphant smirk broke out over his face before he had the sense to hide it. "Nope."

Her eyes narrowed in thought. "You're going to wear power armor," she informed him sternly. "The _whole_ time. Which means we don't go anywhere until you're completely healed up and you've had a few days to practice wearing it."

His brows twitched with impatience, lips parting to protest until the look on her face stopped him short. Not anger, but _fear_ \- the fear she kept coming back to, because it was tearing her apart. The same fear that burned in him like acid at just the thought of her wandering off into the glowing sea without him. He sighed again, blue eyes dropping to the anxious line of her mouth. "Fine," he complied. "I'll do it."

River eased back against the desk, realizing abruptly how tense her body had gotten over the course of their conversation, muscles bunched and alert, heartbeat racing - ready to run. She released a heavy breath, willing herself to relax.

"I want to kiss you," MacCready said to break the silence, sounding frustrated.

She couldn't help a laugh, soft and relieved, raking her hair back from her face with her fingers. "Then kiss me."

"I'm trying to figure out if you're mad first," he admitted warily, mouth curling up into that lovely, taunting smirk as he leaned over her, invading the space between her legs.

"I'm not mad," she promised sincerely. "Never at you."

A half-smile touched his face before he finally claimed her mouth, lips moving hungrily against hers, and then she felt his tongue pushing for entrance, and it turned out, she had a hard time denying him anything - not that she wanted to this time. She let him pull her to the edge of the desk, whimpering into his mouth as he pushed his hips between her thighs. She loved the gentleness with which he always touched her, watching the reverence and affection in his eyes, but _this_ \- his rough hands spreading her thighs, fingernails edging into flesh, demanding and ravenous and _oh_ , this was perfection. When she fell short of breath, he moved his mouth to the curve of her throat and bit down, just hard enough to sting, that knife-edge point of pain-pleasure that sent tingles of heat down her spine - MacCready was a quick learner, and she _really_ loved that about him.

River eventually found herself clinging to his shoulders for support, head tilted back to let him suck bruises into her throat, dark red against her pale skin. He slid her underwear down her thighs, then she felt his hands at her thigh and hip, urging her legs open. With trembling, impatient fingers, she worked his belt open, glancing up when she felt his eyes on her face.

_Oh._

That look again. That world-ending look, hungry and fierce and disbelieving all at once. _I'd fight for you_ , that look said. _I'd die for you_.

She felt some part of herself respond - roaring through her like raging waters, overpowering her and pulling her under. _Always_ , it promised back.

River almost sobbed when he finally pushed into her, swift and deep until she was gasping and clutching at him with her arms and legs. He was firm with her as he fucked her, rough and hungry, and as much as she liked bossing him around, there was something utterly liberating about submitting to the push and pull of his hands. They bit at each other to keep quiet, River's wail breaking loose when she came, and MacCready wasn't long after. He buried his anguished groan in her throat and gripped her by the thighs, holding them wide as he thrust in deep and came inside of her. She cried out at the sensation, still moaning in pleasure when he came down from the rush of his climax, her face red and flushed and her throat covered in welts from his teeth.

"Jesus, River," he panted, cradling her face as he leaned in to gently kiss the tender bruises on her neck. "Sorry, I . . . I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," she soothed him in a dreamy voice, stroking the back of his neck. "Not more than I wanted you to, anyway." Her eyes slipped closed and she smiled, pale skin nearly glowing with satisfaction. The white silk of her hair was coming loose from its braid, clinging in places to the sweat on her skin. She looked carefree and content, and he thought this might be the most beautiful he'd ever seen her - though he fully expected to change his mind at some point later, several times, probably, over the course of the rest of their lives. "Though I probably need to change again. . . ."

He laughed against her shoulder, languid and relaxed in the warm, hazy pleasure that lingered after their intimacy. "Sorry."

"It's no big deal."

"No, I mean - for getting worked up. Making you upset."

She shrugged, and he watched with a thrill of animalistic satisfaction as she slid her underwear back up to her hips while his cum was still inside of her. "Talking things out usually isn't pleasant, but it's important. And I don't ever want to keep anything from you."

He thought abruptly of his first time seeing Lucy again, after years of wandering two very separate paths. Obsessing over new scars he didn't recognize, almost lost at the thin shape to her face, that fire in her stare that burned right through his ribs to his clumsy, foolish heart. And then she'd smiled, and he couldn't believe he'd ever gone a day without seeing it.

So when she asked him how he'd been keeping himself out of trouble - he lied.

He'd fucked up so many times before, mistakes he'd never be able to undo or make up for or beg his way out of. He watched River run a brush through the love-tangled mass of her hair and wondered if loving her would be enough to prevent him from making more. To keep her safe. To do right where he'd only ever done wrong before.

MacCready reached into his bag and pulled the wooden soldier from the side pocket - near the top, easy to access, in the vain hope that if he lost his life somewhere out here, he'd be able to die with it in his hands.

River came back to his side when she noticed he hadn't moved, her hair woven into a neat braid down the center of her back. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he reassured her. "I was just thinking about what you said. About not keeping things from each other."

"Yeah?" she repeated, looking cautious now.

"Not from you." He laughed. "I couldn't lie to you if I tried. It was Lucy . . . a couple years after Leah took us in, I went off on my own. I felt like I had to, in a way. Make something of myself, I don't know. Maybe it was stupid. But Lucy stuck behind to take care of some of the younger kids, and keep an eye on Leah, too. Give her a reason to be responsible."

River listened silently, her eyes gentle and patient.

"I spent the whole time selling the one skill I had. If I got a lucky break, I was a hired gun, guarding a caravan, or shaking someone down for caps. And then there were days when I was practically just a contract killer. When I saw Lucy again after all that time, I didn't know what to say." He held the toy soldier out to her, and waited until she'd taken the small wooden figure into her hands to continue speaking. "I told her I was a soldier, and she made that for me. Never could bring myself to tell her the truth, that I was just a hired killer. The soldier story was the best thing I could come up with. I didn't want to lose her because of what I was - not after I'd just gotten her back."

"You loved her," River said with an understanding smile. "Whatever you did back then, it was because you loved her. I'm sure she knew that."

"Keep it," he told her, when she made to hand it back. "Think of it like a promise. That I won't make the same mistakes twice."

"You're twenty-two, RJ," she said, laughing. "You're allowed to make a couple mistakes. I'm sure I'll make plenty."

"Oh, yeah? So how old does that make you?"

"Nice try."

He grinned. "Come on, you're gonna have to tell me sometime. What's a few decades on top of two hundred years?"

"Gee, when you put it like that," she deadpanned, though she couldn't help a smile at the sound of his laughter. "I'm older than you, that's all you need to know."

His head fell back with an exasperated groan.

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because I can't figure it out," he complained. "I'm still gonna be crazy about you. Nothing could change that."

River smiled, humming thoughtfully under her breath. "I was thirty-two when the bombs fell," she said matter-of-factly. "Back then, I could've been your college professor, or your boss. Or your lawyer," she realized with a seductive little laugh.

"You _were_ my boss," he reminded her, amused. "And that kind of stuff doesn't matter anymore. Charon's two centuries older than Leah, and they seem to make it work okay. I mean, they've got other problems, but age isn't one of 'em."

"I guess not," she agreed after a moment of thought. "We did just argue about walking into the glowing sea. I suppose there are more pressing matters to worry about."

He gave a snort of laughter. "With you? Always."

River leaned up to kiss him, her lips warm and soft. "I'm lucky I have you, then."

"Sure, angel." And MacCready laughed, like she'd just told the best joke in the world. "You're the lucky one."

* * *

Once darkness had fallen over the Commonwealth, they met Preston and Ronnie Shaw at the front gates. River had left her hair loose but neat under her cap, stark white against the deep navy of her general's coat. The Minutemen that weren't stationed at artillery posts were gathered along the top of the west wall, chatting amongst themselves in anticipation. After days of planning and construction, they were finally ready for test fire.

"Lookin' good, General," Preston complimented her attire with a proud grin.

River swept her bangs back from her face and smiled coyly. "Thank you, Preston."

"So here's the thing about the big guns," Ronnie Shaw cut through their small talk brusquely. "They can't fire at anything too close, but their long-distance range is impressive. That's what these are for." She shoved a pouch of smoke grenades into River's hands. "Toss one of those at the bad guys. If we have artillery in range, we'll confirm over the radio and target our fire on your smoke. But first - and the reason everybody's all worked up like it's the damn fourth of July - we need to do a test fire.

"That little building just west of here is your target point. You toss the grenade, and they'll get the cannons aimed and ready for your call. Keep your radio on and turned to Radio Freedom so we can confirm we're ready."

"Easy enough," she agreed, tuning her Pip-Boy to the Minuteman radio station.

It was a short walk to get within throwing distance of the snack shop. MacCready was admiring the way her hair looked in moonlight when she reached over and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Her hand was soft and small, and it fit just right in his palm. She held onto him like that the whole walk there, until she needed her arm to throw the flare, and _that_ was really a sight to see. She lifted her elbow up and back, behind her head in one fluid swing, then extended her arm out and released the grenade in a long, precise arc. It was all one sinuous, confident motion, like she'd done it a thousand times before, and he watched in awe as it landed with an audible clink on the concrete floor of the building.

A trail of red smoke started to stream out from between the broken slats of the roof. "Come on, let's go!" she laughed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him back toward the Castle. They hurried up the nearest staircase to the top of the wall, where Preston had set out two lawn chairs for them.

"Best seats in the house," he said with a bright smile, nudging a cooler full of beer their way.

"I might just like you after all, Garvey." MacCready fished a bottle out and settled into an open chair, twisting the cap open with his hand. "And not just because you carried my half-dead body out of the mud."

"Sure thing, MacCready," Preston chuckled.

River listened to this exchange with a familiar, uplifting sense of purpose, reminding her of what she so often forgot: there were still reasons to hope - things worth fighting for.

"All right, got your smoke on the target, General," Ronnie Shaw's voice piped out from her Pip-Boy. "Waiting on your signal."

"Ready, boys?"

"Let 'er rip, General," MacCready encouraged her with a roguish grin.

River set her shoulders, lifting her chin and raising her voice so that it carried over the sound of the distant waves to Ronnie Shaw standing at the radio in the courtyard. "Fire!"

Ronnie repeated the order over the radio. River quickly scrambled into her seat beside MacCready before the first cannon went off. It shattered the quiet night air with a resounding _boom_ , and the Castle walls trembled beneath them. She squeaked in surprise, ears ringing as she grabbed instinctively at MacCready's arm beside her. Seconds later, she barely heard the sound of the missile cutting through air before the deafening impact, the explosion lighting up the snack shop in a cloud of flame and smoke that shook the earth.

MacCready was laughing next to her, the distant blaze dancing in his wonder-widened eyes. There was a breathless moment of ringing silence, where MacCready looked over at her and his fingers closed around hers, before the barrage of artillery strikes lit up the night sky and drowned out the sound of anything else in the immediate vicinity. She felt the pulse in his wrist, racing beneath her fingers, caught the flash of light on his crooked teeth as he grinned. And in the chaos of the ensuing explosions, he leaned over and kissed her, his hand slipping under her hair to the nape of her neck like a secret, a small, private moment of peace in the face of awe-inspiring destruction.

As the blinding flames and smoke slowly tapered off into the night sky, cheers and whoops of celebration broke out among the people around them. With a swell of triumph, River realized her Minutemen could make the earth quake, and the odds seemed to shift just a little more in her favor.

After one of the best fireworks shows River had ever seen, everybody filtered down into the courtyard. Oil lanterns lined the inner perimeter of the walls, softly illuminating the open space as the Minutemen brought out more bottles and moved the celebration back to ground level.

River lounged in a lawn chair near the eastern wall, slowly nursing the drinks people had kept handing her. MacCready sat at her side, her Pip-Boy in his hands as he tried to beat his high score in Atomic Command. She took a sip of wine straight from its bottle and tilted her head back, admiring the scattering of stars over the dark night sky, more than she'd ever seen before the war, when the city was filled with lights - a rare wasteland blessing where something had actually changed for the better for once, instead of much, much worse. She wondered where she landed in that regard.

They would have to go into the glowing sea soon, and after that, she had no way of knowing. It remained to be seen if this Virgil was actually out there, or if he'd even agree to help her, if and when she showed up on his doorstep with a ghoul, a synth, and her twenty-two-year-old lover. _Now that's an image for the comic books._

River was well past tipsy when the moon had risen to the apex of its journey across the sky. Most of the Minutemen had cleared out of the courtyard and found a bunk in the sleeping quarters to fall into. She leaned heavily into MacCready's side, muffling giggles into her general's cap as he tried to get her back to the room.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised you're a lightweight," he laughed, towing her safely into her quarters. He made sure she was balanced on her feet before he turned to close the doors behind them, casting them into pitch darkness.

"Oh," she said, groping around for him.

"I'll get us some light." She heard the sound of sliding metal and a clicking flint, then the small flame from his lighter faintly lit the room as he used it to light the oil lantern on her table.

River set her cap down on the dresser and hung her coat over the cleanest section of table she could find. MacCready sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows to watch her. The edge of his shirt rode up his stomach, and she stared at the strip of exposed skin, the dusting of tawny hair that she suddenly longed to trace with her fingertips, lower and lower until they found where she knew he would be hard for her.

She was that special kind of warm from just the right amount of alcohol when she settled onto his lap. One rough hand came to the small of her back, steadying her as he brushed his mouth over hers. He tasted of beer and cigarettes, smelled like earth and oil and leather, and beneath her palm, each beat of his heart in his chest felt like its own singular miracle. He worked her clothes open methodically, never once stopping his attentions - kissing her breathless, or trailing his teeth down the slope of her throat until she was flushed and gasping on top of him.

Compared to their quick fuck earlier, tonight he was gentle, unhurried, took his time touching and savoring her. She was sensitive and wine-warm beneath his hands, coming easily and often. He laughed, incredulous, when she shuddered through her third orgasm, then a fourth, and after that they both lost count, but he kissed her after each one as if in wordless gratitude, like they were gifts he would remember always. And then he was inside of her, filling her so perfectly, drawing sharp, high sounds from her swollen lips. He held her lovingly, supporting her when she went limp with pleasure. At some point, she remembered his face nuzzling into her throat, the sound of his voice whispering her name over and over like a prayer. The weight of his body wrapped around hers and his cock deep inside of her banished the fear and panic from her weary head, left her sobbing and breathless in ecstatic relief. He fucked her until all she knew was the way his skin felt on hers, and the rasp of his voice around each groan and sigh. His mouth was on hers when he came, and she swallowed down his anguished moans, nails digging into his hip and urging him closer as he spilled inside of her.

In the quiet stillness afterwards, River laid her head over his chest and listened to the sound of his heartbeat winding back down. His hand stroked her hair, brushing the strands back from her face, then running through them, enjoying the softness over his fingers. However her search for Shaun ended up, she would have this moment for herself - that satisfying ache from being properly fucked, and MacCready's arm over her hip, protective and vaguely possessive as he kissed her throat.

When she finally succumbed to sleep, cradled into the curve of his body, she dreamt of radstorms and artillery strikes, staining the sky with streaks of lightning and smoke like thick ink until her lungs filled up with ash. Her feet landed on solid ground, and she looked down to see clean white tile beneath her dusty boots before it was ripped out from underneath her, and she tumbled head over feet into the calming darkness of dreamless slumber.

MacCready waited to find his own sleep until after she'd finally grown still in his arms. She had nightmares most nights, but thankfully seemed to usually forget them by morning. He held her through the shakes and tremors, the little whimpers that always broke his heart, until she'd eased past the panic and her body and mind could actually rest.

She was a perfect fit in his arms, and at his side - in his beating, wounded heart that had broken into a thousand pieces, and loved her now so fully it had made him whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, these two will leave the Castle again, I promise.


	21. Place in the Sun

Hancock was just starting to nurse a particularly brutal hangover when Fahrenheit knocked at his office door. He didn't have to open his eyes to know it was her; nobody else ever pounded the damn thing like it owed them big-time caps.

"You're gonna bust it off its hinges one-a these days," he groaned, pressing the cold bottle of a Nuka-Cola to his forehead. "And my fuckin' eardrums."

She ignored him. "Letter came for you, bright and early this morning. I _really_ need to remind those morons that not every person who shows up at the front gate is worth waking me up for."

"Ugh, I can't open my eyes. Read it to me, wouldja?"

There was a heavy sigh - and a roll of her eyes, if he knew Fahrenheit - followed by the crisp sound of unfolding paper. " _Mayor Hancock, Goodneighbor_ ," she read in a flat tone. " _I hope this letter finds you well._ ' Aw, ain't that sweet?"

"Without the fuckin' editorial," he growled, waving vaguely in her direction.

"' _I've recently found myself in possession of a castle. I know, I know, the pre-war princess got herself a castle, I can hear your jokes already._ ' Damn, she's really got you good."

Hancock was already on his feet, snatching the slip of paper out of her hands. She tossed a pouch onto the coffee table, where it landed with a dull _thud_ that sounded suspiciously like caps and scraped like nails at his sensitive ears. "Guy dropped that off, too. Said it was important."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked his eyes into focus, continuing where Fahrenheit had left off.

_Hope you're ready for a hike. Now that the Minutemen are back where they belong, it's time for me to start looking for my son again. I've got a few things to wrap up here first, but we should be by in a few days. We'll need a room for the night, and whatever rad chems Daisy can spare. The caps I've sent should more than cover it._

_Then it's off into the glowing sea with us._

_I promise I'm not looking for trouble. It just always seems to find me somehow._

_xoxo,_

_General River Bautista_

He scooped the pouch of caps up and weighed it in his hand, shaking his head. "Damn woman," he grumbled in a low rasp, then raised his voice to the curious redhead still waiting in front of him. "So, I might have to leave town in a few days. . . ."

"I think I can keep things from falling apart around here."

"Wouldn't keep ya around if you couldn't. Do me a favor and send someone to DC after Valentine, huh? Tell him . . . I don't know, tell him _duty calls_. That's pretty good, yeah?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug. "Not bad."

"Yeah, well. He'll know what it means."

Fahrenheit paused in the doorway, tapping calloused, nail-bitten fingers against the wooden frame. "You're goin' through an awful lot of trouble for this woman," she said over her shoulder.

Hancock lifted his head from the papers strewn over his desk, tipping one corner of his hat back and regarding her with a rare gravity in the black of his eyes. "I'm done standin' by and doin' nothin'. She needs help, and there's someone out there needs answerin' for what they did to her." Cracked lips stretched into a wide grin. "Besides, you know me. Soft spot for the damsel in distress and a good revenge story."

"I know," she agreed quietly. "I'm just hoping this one doesn't get you killed."

* * *

For once, MacCready woke up first. He could count the number of times that had happened on one hand and still have enough fingers left to reload his rifle. From the other side of the stone wall, he heard the waves coming in from the bay, lapping over the shore. Still dark, of course, because for some godforsaken reason River's internal clock insisted on keeping pace with the sun despite two centuries of cryogenic sleep. The dread of what faced them in the days ahead threatened to creep into the spare few inches between them, anchoring his mind toward ice-cold fear, but he nuzzled his face close to the curve of her neck and banished the unease with the comforting, familiar smell there that filled his nose - skin and soap and the lingering sweetness of vanilla.

He brushed thin, white strands of hair gingerly out of the way and pressed his mouth to the soft dip of skin under her jaw. After a brief moment he felt her pulse beneath his lips, one beat of her heart after another, slow, steady, strong, and he could almost lose himself in the rhythm of it if not for the tremble of her throat under his mouth when she purred out a sleep-rough laugh.

"You should be sleeping," she mumbled, rolling over to face him. The weak light of a distant, dying lantern played shadows over her features, wove pale gold into the white of her hair, her smile a vague, affectionate curve through the darkness. _Christ, what a fuckin' picture._ "We've got a lot of walking ahead of us."

"Don't remind me," he groaned, ducking his face against her collarbone.

Her fingers slid through his hair, nails scraping skin and sending shivers down his spine. "You could always stay here."

"Beautiful _and_ funny. You're a regular miracle, aren't you?"

River laughed, shaking her head and pecking the side of his mouth. "Not in the _least_ ," she answered wryly.

He smiled, pushing up onto his elbows as she rolled out of bed and got to her feet. _I could spend a lifetime convincing you._

There was a subtle rhythm to the way River got ready every morning, muscle memories far older than him, and if he hadn't had the pleasure of waking up next to her for the past two weeks, he might not have noticed it. She gathered her hair up in one hand and ran a brush through it with the other, pausing to poke through the dresser for a clean set of clothes. She always dressed slowly, in phases, unhurried; River did everything at precisely the speed she wanted to, and on anybody else it might've annoyed him, but she was always the exception. And he liked watching her dress, almost as much as he liked undressing her.

River shrugged into a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned while she twisted her hair back into a neat bun, and he couldn't tear his eyes from that strip of bare, pale skin, the dip between her breasts and the soft planes of her stomach, monuments his wandering mouth had discovered and worshipped and craved now always. She read the hunger in his gaze and blushed, teeth edging along her bottom lip. "You make it really hard to get out of bed, you know that?"

"So don't." MacCready grinned, dragging a hand down his bare chest and watching her eyes follow closely along with it.

"You're a wretched tease," she accused him crossly, and then he gripped himself through the sheet, hard and aching for her already, and desire chased the resolve from her features, cheeks pink and lips parting around a sharp breath.

"That's pretty funny comin' from you," he shot back, rather pleased with the effect he was having on her. "Why don't you come over here and stop me?"

"You should be sleeping in while you have the chance," she scolded, even as she crawled on top of him and peppered kisses over his jaw and cheek. "Don't come bitching to me when you can't feel your legs."

"Mmn, that sounds more like a promise than a threat." He laughed, rough and cracking with want, running his hands up her waist.

"Jesus, RJ," she breathed when she felt the hard weight of his cock beneath her fingers.

"It's the morning," he offered as means of explanation.

River ducked her head against his shoulder, trembling with laughter. "God, some things really don't change, do they?" Then she sucked at his throat, thumb sliding over the head of his cock, murmuring in pleasure at the strangled groan it wrenched out of him. "You make the best little noises."

He wanted to protest - she was hardly one to talk, practically had a different fucking sound for every time he touched her, each one more tempting than the last - but the heat of her mouth sinking down around his cock scattered the words he was only tenuously holding onto in the first place.

"Fuck, Riv," he gasped, burying his fingers into the soft tresses of her hair. "I didn't mean - oh, _fuck_ , that's good."

She hummed as if in agreement, fingers gripped tight around the base of his cock as she sucked him off. _'Not in the least,' said the real-life-fucking miracle_ , he thought in the frantic, white haze of pleasure, toes twitching at the flick of her tongue over the swollen head of his cock. He'd meant to entice her over and fuck her, but River did everything with purpose, and if she had other plans for him in mind, there really was no dissuading her.

"Shit, beautiful, you're gonna make me come," he groaned.

"Mmn," she hummed again, lifting her eyes to meet his, lips swollen and parted around his cock, and he couldn't think of a damn thing he'd ever done to deserve something so beautiful and fucking perfect. He held her gaze until the heat and suction of her mouth sent him over the edge and his eyes screwed shut in the onset of climax, hips seizing as he came.

"Fuck, fuck," he panted twice as she swallowed him down, then cut himself off with a shake of his head, shivering when she pulled off of him.

River licked her lips and got to her feet, smiling in satisfaction. "You done distracting me now?" she teased.

"Definitely not," he protested with a crease in his brow. "What about you?"

A coy smile played at her lips as she buttoned up her shirt. "Buy me a drink tonight and maybe you can make up for it." She hesitated at the dresser, blinking thoughtfully as if trying to remember where she'd left off, and he frowned, guilt threading tension into his shoulders.

"Sorry."

"Mmn?"

"I interrupted your morning routine."

"You interrupt all my routines," she answered easily, slipping into a faded pair of jeans. She fished one of his shirts from the dresser and tossed it at him before sitting down to pull her boots on, throwing him an amused look. "Why do you think I like you so much?"

MacCready shook his head, eyes fond as he watched her lace up her boots. "Beats me, angel."

At the softness to his voice, River glanced up to meet his gaze, cheeks blushing pink, and it was still so hard to believe that he could do that to her. Her lips curved up into a tender smile, and then she laughed, pulling the navy blue general's coat onto her shoulders. "Come on, handsome. We gotta hit the road. I have a date tonight, and I've got a good feeling about this one."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. Some smart-ass I met in a bar who keeps following me around."

MacCready grinned. "He sounds like trouble."

"Definitely. But he's my kind of trouble."

* * *

Packed and fed and armed to the teeth, River and MacCready said their farewells at the front gate. Preston Garvey and Ronnie Shaw had gathered to see them off, promising River that the Castle was in good hands while she was gone.

"I've never doubted it," she replied in earnest, shaking Ronnie Shaw by the hand. Preston she pulled into a hug, and after a brief moment of surprise, he held her back tightly.

"Stay _safe_ out there, all right?" he told her. "You've got friends here worried about you."

"I'll be back before you know it." She squeezed his shoulder and released him, turning to the hound waiting patiently at his feet. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, pushing her face into his coat. "I'm gonna miss you, boy."

He licked at her face, whining low in his throat.

"Oh, god, please don't do that," she begged, feeling tears burn at her eyes as she stroked behind his ears. "I'm gonna be just fine, okay? MacCready's gonna bring me home safe, and I'll cook you up a big ol' brahmin steak and we'll cuddle all night, okay?"

Dogmeat grunted out a low _whuff_ of acceptance and nuzzled at her cheek, sniffing affectionately.

"Thatta boy. You keep everybody in line while I'm gone. I'll be home soon. Promise." She kissed his snout and got to her feet, waving one last time at Preston and Ronnie before she and MacCready ventured through the front gate. Twin suits of mismatched power armor waited on the other side, finally complete after weeks of scouring nearby raider camps and old military checkpoints.

He had a thumb hooked under the strap of his bag, tossing a fusion core in his other hand. He caught it again and held it out to her, grinning. "Ready?"

"Almost." She grabbed him by the collar and tugged him down into a kiss, humming in satisfaction when his surprise transitioned quickly into enthusiasm. His hand came to the curve of her waist, palm sliding rough and scalding hot over an inch of exposed skin.

When she pulled back, he blinked and smiled down at her, straightening his shirt with a roll of his shoulders. "Better," he agreed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before finally letting her go.

Most of the raider camps and mutant dens in the surrounding area had been cleared out already over the past few weeks, while they searched for parts and MacCready got what River called his _power armor legs._ He was pretty sure she just liked watching him kill things, but that, at least, was an appeal he could understand. There was just something about seeing River nail a guy right between the eyes, usually before he even knew she was there. She hated the fighting and shooting and killing - he knew that, wasn't always such a big fan himself - but she was getting pretty damn good at it.

They walked the shadows cast beneath the dilapidated overpass leading into town, skeletal remains of a highway she'd driven every day to get to work.

"The discrepancy isn't lost on me. It never is," she remarked dryly. "Though I often wish it was. Might make some of this easier to swallow."

MacCready shrugged, shoulders bumping into padded metal. "Maybe. Wasteland's gonna be the soul-crushing nightmare that it is, no matter what you compare it to." He smiled when she snorted with laughter. "You gotta have plenty of things left over that you're glad you remember."

"Okay, yeah," River agreed after a brief moment of thought. "I could probably think up a few."

"I'm all ears."

"Just start spouting them off?"

"Throw 'em at me, I'm listening."

She laughed. "Fine. Skating rinks."

"Skating rinks?"

"Yeah, they were these big, long buildings with special wooden floors you could skate on, and I used to go with my friends every Saturday for ladies' night. I'm very good," she added with a smirk in his direction.

He rolled his eyes affectionately. "You say that like you're not good at everything."

She smiled, her voice growing fond and distant as she went on. "Dressing up and going out to dinner at a nice restaurant. Coming home from work on a Friday and having the whole weekend to yourself. Bookstores, and live bands, and _ice cream_." A wounded sigh followed. "Oh, god, RJ, ice cream. You would've loved it so much." She shook her head, a crease of determination forming between her delicate brows. "You know what? I am gonna find a way to make you ice cream if it kills me."

He laughed. "Please, god, no. I have some bad memories experimenting with desserts." At her curious look, he explained cryptically, "Let's just say my brother wasn't _always_ called Eclair and leave it at that."

River beamed at him in excitement. "You'll have to trust me."

"I do," he promised, absently tracking a blackbird across the grey cut of sky above them, sliced into jagged pieces by the towering skyscrapers that loomed overhead. "With my life, I do."

She made a low, amused sound, edging toward frustration. "You always do that," she said with a twitch of her brows. "Cheeky, irreverent bastard all morning and then suddenly so genuine."

MacCready tried to hold back his laughter, barely able to restrain a grin. "Got to keep you guessing, don't I?"

"You are impossible." But she laughed, and he'd do anything to keep that smile on her face, even something very, very stupid, like walk into the glowing sea, or fight a mirelurk queen, or give his weakened, weary heart away and hope to god he never lost her.

He gripped her hand, the plated fingers too thick and clumsy to lace together, but the sentiment was there, even if he couldn't voice it.

* * *

Goodneighbor was a strangely welcome sight for a place that reeked of piss and garbage. Even River seemed to relax once they were past the gate, though her nose wrinkled in momentary disgust.

"It passes," he assured her.

She shuddered. "Not soon enough. Hey, Daisy!" she raised her voice to call out and drifted toward the ghoul's countertop, lips stretching into a warm smile. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"You two ought to knock it off, or an old ghoul is gonna start to get some ideas," Daisy teased back, sliding an old typewriter aside and wiping her hands clean on a rag before splaying them out over the counter. "Now, Mayor Hancock came by and said you two need some rad-away."

"Whatever you can afford to sell," River confirmed, pulling a tin of caps from the bag over her shoulder.

Daisy waved her away. "No need for that, he already settled up for you. Wasn't too happy about it either, might I add."

"Awfully nice of him." She smiled innocently, blinking wide eyes back at the ghoul's shrewd gaze as she scooped bottles of rad-x and rad-away pouches into her bag. "We're gonna be doing something pretty dangerous and stupid soon, so naturally we're getting drunk tonight. Want to join us?"

The mottled remains of her brows knitted together in concern, but she squeezed River's hands in her own, nodding fondly. "Sure thing, smoothskin."

"Great." River grinned, then suddenly jolted as if remembering something. "Hey, before we go, you wouldn't happen to have any hubflowers, would you?"

"Hubflowers? Hmm . . . sure, I probably have some around here somewhere." After a few moments of determined searching - during which MacCready shot River a curious glance and she only smiled back - Daisy returned with a handful of the blue flowers. "Here, take 'em. On the house."

"Thanks, Dais. We'll see you soon."

River lovingly straightened the delicate petals before storing them in an empty box of shotgun shells. They stomped through a light, oncoming drizzle toward the Rexford. Clair had a room saved for them, but eyed the hulking metal suits suspiciously until the scrape of caps over the front counter set her worries at ease and she allowed them the side room to store their armor.

MacCready climbed out with a sigh of relief, stretching his arms high above his head and groaning when the muscles there cracked and loosened. He helped River down and she pecked a grateful kiss to the side of his jaw, twisting the fusion cores loose and stuffing them into her bag.

After hours of dragging around the heavy power armor, the muscles in his legs protested painfully to climbing three sets of stairs to their room. River reached over to grab his hand, white hair wild and frizzled from the rain. Her mouth was set in a tight, grim line, eyes darting restlessly back and forth, and he recognized there a little of the dread he'd felt this morning.

"I'm with you," he promised, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Come on, I owe you a drink, right?"

She laughed quietly, tired but genuine. "You do."

It was quick work undressing, especially with River's help, and tugging his clothes off seemed to put the smile back on her face at last. She tried to tame his hair with mild success, giggling when he distracted her with teeth at the crook of her throat. He sifted through his bag for something even slightly decent until she threw a bundle of clothes at him.

He caught it with a few surprised blinks. "You . . . bought me clothes?" He held the shirt up in one hand and shook out what might have been the most intact pair of pants he'd ever seen in the other.

"Is that so shocking?" she asked fondly, laying her coat out over the dresser. "That I might like dressing you up?"

He shook his head as he slid his arms into the sleeves, smiling when it buttoned up into a perfect fit. "Not from you."

From the seemingly endless depths of her bag, River pulled out a length of deep blue fabric, gingerly swiping it clean. He watched, somewhat transfixed as she drew the soft material up around her hips, fixing thin sleeves into place over her shoulders. The dress parted in the back over a deep valley of bare skin, and she turned away from him, gathering loose strands of hair up out of the way. "Would you zip me up?"

MacCready swallowed air past his dry throat, placing one hand at the small of her back and taking hold of the small metal zipper in the other, slowly dragging it up the length of her back. He paused at the last few inches, brushed his lips over the smooth skin between her shoulder blades before sliding it to the top.

He stuffed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter into his pocket and attached a holster with Kellogg's pistol to his belt. Then it was mostly a lot of waiting while she finished getting ready, and it only took a few minutes of his restless fidgeting for her to laugh sympathetically and send him downstairs.

"Go smoke a cigarette while you wait. I'll be down before you're done."

He grumbled skeptically, but let her shoo him from the room, a cigarette clamped between his lips. He waited until he was settled onto a chair in the lobby to light the end of it, legs stretched out in front of him. It probably wasn't the most brilliant idea to go out drinking the night before their expedition into the glowing sea, but if a few hours of something familiar put her mind at ease, it was worth doing. He couldn't take her to a nice restaurant, couldn't give her what she knew before, just a dingy bar carved into an old subway station, and he wondered with a pang if these crude facsimiles could ever make her as happy as she used to be.

Hanging neglected between his fingers, the cigarette had all but burned out by the time River came down the stairs, and the sight of her swept the worries from his mind like a current. She'd woven hubflowers into the plaits of her braid, blue petals pinned into snow-white tresses, a black leather jacket slung around her shoulders. She smiled at the admiration on his face, violet lips curling up at one end. With the lipstick and the dress and the boots with mutant blood still streaked over the soles, she looked tempting and downright dangerous - walking fucking trouble, like he knew she was the first moment he saw her.

She ducked under his arm while they hurried through the rain, shivering when she stepped into the sudden warmth and noise of the Third Rail. She shook the rain from her jacket and slipped it back over her shoulders, leading him by the hand past Ham, who nodded wordlessly in greeting, and down the stairs into the smoke-hazy subway station, tiled walls ringing with the swell of jazz and Magnolia's crooning voice.

River stretched up on tiptoes to peer over the crowd. "That's Nick Valentine over there, isn't it?"

"In those clothes? Definitely." He nodded vaguely in that direction. "Why don't you go see him? I'll get you something to drink."

"Surprise me, yeah?" She blew him a kiss and darted through the sparse crowd, drawing far too many stares along the way, but sitting between Nick Valentine and the mayor, she was about as safe as she could be in Goodneighbor.

"MacCready," Whitechapel Charlie greeted him distrustfully. "Come by expectin' free drinks again?"

"Come on, Whitey, don't be like that," he shot back with a grin, sliding onto an open barstool. "I always pay my tabs . . . eventually."

"Just because Mayor 'Ancock won't let me charge that friend of yours - "

"Now, now, Chuck," Hancock drawled as he came up and leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You're not givin' MacCready a hard time now, are you?"

There was a long, pointed pause, and then a surprisingly emphatic sigh. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mayor 'Ancock."

"Nah, I know you better than that," he agreed good-naturedly and pushed a pile of caps across the counter. "Couple of beers, wouldja?"

"I can't take your money, boss," Charlie protested as he pulled two bottles from an icebox below the counter.

"Ain't mine. You can thank the General over there next time ya see her."

MacCready chuckled at the disgruntled crease in Hancock's brow. "She always gets her way, you know. It's easier just to accept it."

"How come you're here then? Thought she was gonna leave ya behind."

He glanced over at where she sat next to Valentine, chatting animatedly while the synth just smiled and listened, head bent against his good hand. "I think I'm starting to learn her language."

"Yeah, good luck with that one."

"It's a learning process," he agreed with a wry laugh. "Got any mutfruit back there for a dirty wastelander, Charlie? I wouldn't say no to something on the fresher side."

"I'll see what I can find," the Mr. Handy replied, still vaguely disdainful in tone, though MacCready strongly suspected that was just his default setting.

Hancock tilted his head forward and inspected his face through narrowed, black eyes, rumbling thoughtfully under his breath.

"What?" he demanded, angling a shoulder defensively between them.

"You look different, s'all," the ghoul answered with a shrug, smiling to himself. "She suits you."

"Come on, man."

"Look at you, blushin' like a kid," he chuckled. "What've you two been up to out there?"

"Bustin' skulls. Whole way from here to the Castle's clear thanks to us." MacCready grabbed their drinks from Charlie and tried to ignore Hancock's amused laughter beside him as he headed back for Valentine and River.

"Community service from the dynamic duo," he rasped teasingly. "Turnin' the Commonwealth around."

"Trying to, anyways," River piped up, catching the tail end of his sentence. "A woman can only do so much."

"I wouldn't bet against you, doll," Valentine said, lighting the cigarette between his lips.

She smiled and took a sip of the drink in her hands, eyes widening when the taste hit her tongue. "This is amazing."

"Commonwealth specialty," MacCready said, stretching an arm along the couch behind her. "Dirty wastelander, just like me."

"Funny, I like this one, too," she shot back with a grin, teeth pearly white against her dark lipstick.

Valentine groaned in exasperation. "Tell me you two aren't gonna stick with this lovebird act the whole time."

"You guys wanted to come," River reminded him cheerily, between long sips of her drink. "We've been doing okay so far on our own."

Valentine rumbled out a reluctant laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you have, sweetheart."

"Detective Valentine," she scolded, lips a playful curve of dark purple. "Such a crass joke from such a dignified man."

"Emphasis on the detective part. These optics of mine don't miss much, smitten beauty queens included."

"Now _that_ is just a rumor," River said adamantly, pointing a determined finger in his direction. "I mean, I competed, but I never placed or anything. Wasn't really my scene. Also, I started putting the moves on one of the other contestants, so I got disqualified."

Hancock erupted in laughter and MacCready smiled, his fingertips at her shoulder, tracing the seam of her sleeve. "Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

She sighed, resting her chin in the valley of her palm and staring off into the distance, lips curling toward a smile. "Absolutely worth it."

"'Not lookin' for trouble,' she says," Hancock muttered from Valentine's other side.

"Not actively, anyway. Not anymore." She received three very different, but identically skeptical stares. "Oh, fuck all of you." Then a chorus of laughter, and her cheeks burned pink, smile widening into a grin.

MacCready drifted in and out while she talked, enjoying the smoke and timbre of her voice, even if he zoned out the words. He watched the drink slowly dwindle in her glass, listened to her laughter grow louder and more frequent. She crossed one long leg over the other, tucking the toe of her boot under his knee, her features easy. And even with the shitstorm looming ahead, the danger and fighting and inevitable heartbreak, at least for now, she looked happy. _That's all I could ask for, really._

"Daisy," River said suddenly, wiggling a few fingers at the ghoul coming down the stairs. At her side was another, hunched anxiously under a faded green hat. She got to her feet and straightened the brim of MacCready's cap with a smile. "I'll be right back."

He nodded toward Daisy. "Go on." Then, once she was out of earshot, "Who's the guy?"

"Kent Connelly," Hancock answered, for once without a smart comment. "Sweet kid, hangs out at the Den all the time. Completely harmless. Too caught up in the past, maybe, but who isn't these days? At least, not when ya know how good it used to be."

A crease formed between MacCready's brows at his words as he watched River give Daisy a hug and shake the other ghoul's hand, a bright smile on her face. She hung close to their side as they left for the bar, hair glinting golden-white in the yellowed lighting of the old subway station. His eyes followed the shape of her skirt, playing around her slim legs with every step.

"He's a goner," Hancock chuckled darkly beside him, lips pulled back to expose a cut of off-white teeth in a wicked smile.

"Yeah, yeah," MacCready sneered and took a sip of his beer, savoring the cool taste and carbonation as it washed over his tongue and down his throat. He tipped the brim of his hat back with a fingertip, shoulders rolling to find something reminiscent of a comfortable position on the hard metal. River was leaning over the bar now, sweet-talking Whitechapel Charlie if the smile on her face was any indication. "Like you two aren't."

"No idea what you're talkin' about," the ghoul deflected with a dismissive sweep of his hand.

Valentine just smiled, a knowing twist of greying, synthetic lips.

"Sure, 'cause you'd follow just anyone into the glowing sea."

Hancock jabbed a mottled, accusatory finger at him and narrowed black eyes into a glare. "That woman's never been _just anyone_ a day in her life, and you know it."

"You got me there," he muttered against the rim of his bottle before another drag of beer. He pulled his hat off and set it on the table, scrubbing a hand through the matted mess of his hair.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised you're coming with us," Valentine drawled with a smirk that was probably centuries older than MacCready, no matter the face it adorned. "How do you two plan on beatin' the rads?"

"Power armor. Hazmat suits if anything goes wrong, and all the rad chems she could fit in that gigantic bag she has." At the skeptical lift to one of Valentine's brows, he added, "It's not ideal, but ideal would be not going into the glowing sea in the first place, so . . ." He shrugged a shoulder to finish the thought off, gesturing a vague circle with the neck of his bottle.

"At least the company's decent," the synth remarked with a nod at the bar, where River was waiting with Daisy and Kent for their drinks, swinging the toe of her boot along to the lulling bass of Magnolia's song.

MacCready grinned at him, splaying a hand over his chest. "If you wanted to spend more time with me, Valentine, all you had to do was ask."

"Wise ass," Valentine groused as Hancock barked out a laugh.

"I'm already having fun," the ghoul remarked with relish, thumbing the jet inhaler in his hand, twirling it deftly between his fingers. "Should be an interesting few days."

"That's one way of saying it." His eyes skimmed over the crowd, leapt from face to face in a cursory scan before landing on River once more. This time she was watching him back, and her violet lips tugged up into a crooked smile, neon lights casting pink and gold over her fair skin and playing through the white of her hair. She took a sip of the drink in her hands and winked at him, turning back to Kent at her side.

Magnolia drew her song to a close with a long, high note over a swell of brass and percussion, the loud, resplendent harmony fading into quiet once more, leaving a heavy silence behind, followed quickly by a round of enthusiastic applause. She smiled when she spotted River at the bar, waving a few elegant fingers in her direction. "I'd like to dedicate this next song to the only other Julie London fan left in the Commonwealth," she crooned into the microphone. "This one's for you, little lady."

River laughed, raising her glass up at her in gratitude as Charlie poked at the jukebox in the corner with a metallic claw and the sound of plucking strings began to filter out from the speakers.

_Now you say you're lonely, you cried the whole night through_

MacCready watched River's expression soften into a reminiscent smile as she recognized the tune, elbow resting on the bar with her chin propped up in her palm.

_Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river, I cried a river over you_

Amber eyes shifted to meet his almost instinctively, and she tilted her head toward the open floor in front of the stage, where a few people had gathered to dance, lifting one of her brows at him in a silent question. A pit of dread knotted behind his ribs, and he exhaled heavily, weighing his options. She seemed to read his unease even from across the bar and smiled in understanding, turning back to face Daisy and Kent.

"Now that's interesting," Valentine observed with amusement from beside him, keen, spark-bright eyes flickering back and forth between him and River.

MacCready hung his head with a groan. "You guys aren't gonna be _watching_ us the whole time, are you?"

"I dunno, not every day wasteland punk meets pre-war princess." Hancock snickered as Valentine grinned conspiratorially beside him. "Kinda fascinating, to be honest."

"Great," he deadpanned. "Yeah, no, this is gonna be just _great_."

"Best _Wizard of Oz_ remake the wasteland's ever seen," Valentine joked.

MacCready laughed, shaking his head. "River's not here, nobody gets your pre-war references, old man."

"Come on, now, one of you really ought to know that one," he chastised the both of them, then sighed in defeat. "I'll give it another go when she's around."

"Solid plan." He rotated the empty beer bottle between his fingers, distantly registering Magnolia's shift toward the end of the song.

_And now, you say you love me_

_Well, just to prove you do_

_Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river_

_I cried a river over you_

When the music finally faded out, the bar erupted in cheers. River and several others stood up in applause, and Hancock stuck two fingers into his mouth to let out a piercing whistle. "That's my girl," he said approvingly, lifting his beer at her, and all the way from the stage, Magnolia gave him a curtsy.

River lingered at the bar long enough to buy Magnolia a drink once her set was over. When Charlie filtered Diamond City radio over the speakers, she dragged Daisy onto her feet. After a few stiff turns, Daisy relented with a smile and let River twirl her around the open floor, feet falling into the steps with a distant familiarity.

MacCready glanced over at Hancock, black eyes amused and fond as he watched them, fingers tapping restlessly at the table at his side.

"Oh, just go, then," he told him, smirking. "It's what she wants."

"I don't like steppin' on anybody's toes," the ghoul replied casually, leveling him with an earnest stare.

MacCready shook his head. "We're good, man."

Hancock rose to his feet and craned his neck from side to side, cracking the muscles there, before stalking through the crowd toward where they were dancing.

"Awful generous of you." Valentine held a pack of cigarettes out toward him.

He took one with a noncommittal roll of his shoulders. "Yeah, well. She doesn't get to let loose like this all the time. 'Sides, it's not like she needs my permission."

The synth merely nodded in agreement, doing that faraway look River always did when her mind was a couple hundred years away.

"You remember what it was like, right?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, and golden optics flickered over to read his expression, carefully, like he was taking him apart, inspecting all the pieces, and putting him back together all with one look. "Before, I mean."

"Sure. Human memories aren't great, but I still got a few of 'em swimmin' around up there. What's on your mind, kid?"

MacCready bristled at that, but figured he wasn't really on the negotiating side of the conversation, and, well, he kind of  _was_ , to Valentine at least. "Do you think somebody could be happy now, like they were before?" He didn't elaborate, and from the knowing tilt to Valentine's mouth, he didn't need to.

"Maybe not in the same exact way, no," he replied after a long moment. "But that doesn't mean she can't be happy. And anyways, you're wasting your time thinkin' like that. Look at her."

His gaze landed on River, laughing as Hancock spun her and the ends of her skirt flared out around her.

He reached out with his good hand to pat him on the shoulder. "She's gonna be all right. Got you to worry about her, anyways."

They fell into a mutual silence, not quite companionable, but something close to it maybe. After a few more beers, he let River convince him to dance, and the joy that lit up her eyes was enough to soothe the lump in his throat as she pulled him across the bar. He'd learned a lot in twenty-two years, but nobody had ever taught him to dance. Well, Leah had tried, at least, until he put up enough of a fight to weasel out of it. He and Lucy had sat by and laughed at all the others, so they both looked like idiots trying to dance on their wedding day.

River didn't seem to mind his inexperience. She leaned comfortably against his shoulder, and the way she fit in his arms was pleasantly familiar, even if the dancing wasn't. "New at this, huh?"

"I've got other talents."

"Plenty," she agreed with a soft laugh. Standing this close, he could smell the hubflowers in her hair and the sweetness of Nuka-Cola she'd probably spilled on herself at some point. "Thanks for tonight. I'm probably gonna regret it in the morning, but. . ." And she laughed again, slurring her sibilants, cheeks flushed and warm when she pressed her face against his collarbone. "Glad to have it, while we can."

He fixed one of the flowers back into place. "Ah, you deserve a night off. At least one."

"Mmn, I'm officially spoiled, aren't I?"

"Rotten."

Her eyes lifted to meet his, irises nearly swallowed up by dark pupils. "Wanna spoil me a little more?"

"Yes, please." He drew her toward the stairs, her laughter bubbling carefree behind him.

"Not gonna say good night?"

"We'll see 'em in the morning."

River sent Valentine and Hancock a cursory wave and followed him eagerly up the stairs. She swayed on her feet when they reached the top, murmuring an apology under her breath.

"Jesus, Riv." He laughed and bent forward, holding his arms out. "Come on, before you hurt yourself."

She steeled herself with a deep breath and vaulted up onto his back, nearly upending him if not for Ham reaching out to steady them. He ushered them warily out the front door, where he told them acidly that they were on their own from there.

"Yeah, yeah, I got her," MacCready griped, her thighs gripped securely in his hands.

She giggled into his back, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "My hero."

"Shut up."

"Mmn, sweet-talker." He felt her lips at the base of his neck, brushing over the warm, sensitive skin there and making him shudder. "I promised Kent we'd get him a Silver Shroud costume. Hope that's okay."

"Helping more wretched souls, huh?"

"He sounded so happy talkin' about it. Couldn't say no."

"I know, beautiful."

She clung to him tightly as he stepped into the Rexford, cheered him on while he tackled the stairs, and barely bit back a screech when he faked losing his balance on the last few steps.

"Goddamn it, RJ!" she hissed, laughter breaking the words into rolling, rhythmic syllables, loving and undeniably fond even as she cursed him.

He set her down carefully near the desk, where she started laying out hubflowers once she freed them from her braid. He locked the door behind them and wandered back over, sweeping her hair aside and pressing his mouth to the nape of her neck, kissing softly at first before his tongue lashed out to taste her skin.

"You're making this very difficult," she complained, voice edging toward breathless.

"Leave 'em in, then."

River simply laughed as she pulled the last few flowers from her hair and brushed them aside. Her braid was coming loose by now, and he buried his hand into the soft tresses like fine silk around his fingers. His other hand hunted up under her skirt, thumb sliding over soft skin, and she whimpered under his mouth, low and needy.

"Gonna miss this," he mumbled against her shoulder as he found the zipper of her dress and started dragging it open. "Having you whenever I want."

She swallowed convulsively, bracing herself against the edge of the table, and when he pressed his hips against her and she felt the hard weight of his cock, her knees went weak. " _Oh_ ," she sighed, and an enamored smile touched her face. "So ready for me."

"Always." His voice was rough with want, and the husky sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. He worked the hooks of her bra open with surprising deftness, slipping the straps and the sleeves of her dress down her arms. "Always for you," he rumbled, trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses over her shoulders and spine.

"I'm yours," she promised, the syllables singing like an answered prayer over her tongue, some pure, perfect harmony in the vowels and nasal and sweet, final sibilant - _this is it, this is perfect, this is finally something fucking right_.

MacCready muffled a groan of relief against her shoulder. She felt his fingertips dragging over her hips as he slid her dress and underwear down, rifle-calloused and deliciously rough. "You shouldn't be," he breathed, running his hands over her with almost reverent disbelief. "Jesus, look at you. No way I get you all to myself."

Anxious and eager under his touch, River glanced over her shoulder, catching just a flash of blue irises before he ducked his head to kiss the line of her shoulders. She rolled her hips back against him, savoring the startled sigh it drew out of him. "All yours," she panted, and whimpered when his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh.

He dragged teasing strokes along her sex, exhaling hard through his nose at the silky arousal he found. "Fuck, you're so _wet_ ," he groaned, and she would feel bad about it later, but that breathtaking moment of breaking through his self-control always filled her with heat. "All for me, huh?" He nipped at the base of her neck as he shrugged out of his shirt and worked his belt open. She felt him prodding between her thighs, and then the thick head of his cock pushed slowly into her, and she sank onto her elbows, barely containing a sob at the sweet stretch and pressure of being filled.

"Oh god," she whined, more a sigh of garbled sound than actual discernible words. She stretched up on her tiptoes to let him take her, leaning heavily on the desk. She hardly felt the strain or the cold wood biting into her elbows, only his hands on her body, warm over her stomach and cradling one of her breasts, rolling a sensitive nipple between two long fingers - and deeper, raging through her like ocean currents, the pulsing, aching pleasure of his thick cock sliding home.

MacCready groaned behind her, murmured her name and trailed his lips up her shoulder, fingers flexing around her hip.

She pushed back against him with an impatient moan. "Please," she begged, and her eyes fluttered shut when his hips gave another shallow thrust. " _Fuck_ , baby, please." The teeth at her neck bit down, anchoring them together as he started up a steady, insistent rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, trembling in boneless pleasure until she scraped together the sense and strength to push back into each thrust, taking him deeper.

He planted one of his hands beside her elbow, gripping the desk with white knuckles to leverage a slow, deep thrust that pressed thick and heavy over every perfect place inside of her. She shuddered through a wave of blinding pleasure, crying out as her toes curled inside of her boots. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the need to stay quiet. They'd been trapped at the Castle for weeks, biting at sheets and shoulders to muffle themselves every time they fucked, and the Rexford wasn't much better, but she felt ready to explode with sound from holding back for so long.

MacCready sucked hard at her neck and shoulders, the hand at her breast dropping to the slick folds between her thighs. His fingertips made precise, searching circles around her clit, teasing but not giving, remarkably perceptive to what her body needed, and how to come just short of it and leave her frenzied and wanting. Which was pretty impressive, given how new all this was, the two of them learning each other, and while there was still a lot about MacCready she didn't know, sexually they had undeniable chemistry. A combination of quick learning and a precise touch on his part and voracious sensitivity on hers made each time he slid into her feel like some kind of actual miracle - and she'd stopped believing in those ages ago.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she was falling in love with him, and staring that fact in the face felt good, too. Scary good. So good it had her holding back tears as he traced his fingers over the swollen bead of her clit, rumbling breathless praise at her ear.

"Fuck, River, you feel so good," he gasped. She shivered at the timbre of his voice and how earnestly he meant it, like those could be his last words and he'd die a happy man. He pulled out, steadying her with a hand at the small of her back, and she whimpered at the cold emptiness he left behind. The sound made him chuckle, kissing the smooth skin of her back. "Don't worry, angel, I'm not goin' anywhere."

He slid the head of his cock over her sensitive folds, catching at the dip of her entrance and sinking back in. His hand moved to the curve of her ass, fingers digging into flesh as he pulled her deeper onto him. He leaned his head on her shoulder, groaning long and low into her skin at the scorching heat of her sex, squeezing him like she never wanted to let him go. "Oh, _fuuuck_." His fingers never let up at her clit, and the frantic, forceful pace of his thrusts had the desk shaking before them, slamming into the wall behind it.

"Shit," she panted, her nails scraping at the wooden surface. Sharp peaks of pleasure started at the base of her spine and streaked over her nerves with each slide of his cock back in and out. It was a tight fit, but her body was always eager for him, sucked him into her heat like he belonged there, and god, it really _felt_ like he did. His fingers over her clit sent twinges of abrasive, almost unbearable pleasure through her, had her trembling, teetering torturously on the edge of climax. She heard him grunt when she clenched and pulsed around him, and it took only a few more determined strokes for her to fall apart, choking back a wail of ecstasy and tumbling into release.

MacCready cursed again, palming her hips as she seized up. " _River_ ," he groaned, and held tight to her twitching body while the waves of ecstasy crashed over her, until finally she came down heaving for breath. With a pleased rumble, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling vanilla and that delicate _River_ smell, clean fresh air and salt on his tongue.

He loved her slowly after that, gently, kissing her neck and shoulders, and even when he sank his teeth in, the bites were tender little pains that sang like music over her raw nerves. Eventually his thrusts grew erratic, nails biting into her hips, and she urged him softly under her breath, "Come for me, baby. I need you so badly." He had her braid wrapped tight around his fist when he came, spilling inside of her with a long, drawn-out grown, muffled with her throat between his teeth. She savored the harmony of pains and the pulsing warmth of him filling her, that familiar, intimate thrill she loved so much.

River slumped forward onto the desk with an exhausted groan. "Oh. Oh, god."

"Yeah." He choked out a laugh, guiding her toward the bed when her knees started to shake. "Come on, if you collapse there's no way I'm lifting you now."

She rolled onto the mattress with a silvery laugh, white hair spilling out around her shoulders. She kicked her boots off at him while he pulled his underwear back on and he barely dodged the second one, turning with a wicked smirk.

"You're gonna regret that."

"Oh, shit - RJ, no!" She scrambled away from him, but he grabbed her by the ankles, yanking her to the edge of the bed and wrapping himself around her. She shook with giggles while he sucked a bruise into the curve of her throat, pushing playfully at his shoulders. "Fiend!"

The bites turned to kisses, his laughter rumbling against her skin. "Stop kicking shoes at me, then."

"Just testing your reflexes. They're fantastic, by the way."

"Could've told you that." MacCready tucked her head beneath his jaw, cradling her in the crook of his arm.

River wound herself closer, her lips at the edge of his jaw. "Promise me," she murmured, her voice quiet, ice-fragile and thin. "Promise me you'll stay close."

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated. "I'm with you." He freed the band from her hair, teasing her braid loose, gently, like delicate silk in his hands. "Even you can't get rid of me. I'd like to see anybody else try."

That won him the sound of her laughter, warm and soft like the waves they woke up to that morning. A peaceful start and end to the last calm day she might have in a while, and again it struck him how monumentally idiotic it was, throwing himself headfirst into the dangerous search for her son. But even if he didn't owe her for saving him - for saving _Duncan_ \- out of all the promises he'd broken, that was one he could keep.

_I'm with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: In case you want to actually hear [Lynda Carter sing Cry Me A River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHYZcdIMOQs) (and let's be honest, you totally do, right?)
> 
> Smut inspiration for this chapter is this beautiful (and very NSFW!) [commission](http://vaultie-glass.tumblr.com/post/145533631574/lovelovedeary-river-and-maccready-these-two) of MacCready and River by [momo-deary](http://momo-deary.tumblr.com/). She's amazingly talented and it was such an honor to have her draw River!
> 
> Also I'm sorry this chapter took so long. It took me several tries, I scrapped pages and pages of drafts that didn't feel right to get to this point, so I apologize for the wait! As always, thank you bunches for reading, every kudos and comment always makes my day!


	22. Roads

Letting MacCready sleep in was always a rather tempting indulgence for River, particularly difficult to resist before a long journey like the one they faced now. Even he'd reluctantly agreed they should leave as early as possible, but he looked so young when he slept, so much more his age, features slack and easy, untouched by the doubt and fear that always etched tension into the lines of his face.

She dressed silently, trying to blink the heavy, stinging weight from behind her eyelids, only to realize dimly that she _recognized_ this particular ache. A reluctant laugh scraped its way like gravel up her throat. _Guess I shouldn't be surprised that hangovers have gotten worse. Or maybe just the booze has._

River was just propping her chipped compact mirror up on the dresser when the sound of distant gunshots stopped her short. Her body immediately tensed, eyes flickering over at MacCready, his chest still rising and falling in the languid rhythm of sleep. Another round of gunshots followed, and she struggled to pinpoint their direction of origin before, just as abruptly as they'd sounded, the gunfire all fell quiet. After a long stretch of near silence, punctuated only by the sound of MacCready's even breathing, she finally exhaled a deep sigh.

She reached for her brush, annoyed at the tremble in her fingers, her heartbeat already racing in her ears, adrenaline that seeped through her at the slightest threat of danger, no matter how brief or distant - because it was never truly _gone_ , never far off, always there, _always_ , exhausting and ever-present at the back of her mind.

 _Good morning, Boston_ , she thought dryly. _You've changed a bit, from how I remember you. . ._

She worked the tangles from her hair and set the brush down to start weaving it into a braid, fingers winding every lock into place with deft familiarity. Once she tied off the end and tucked away a few loose strands, she took in her reflection: high, pale cheeks and the same amber eyes that had been staring back at her for centuries, the image bisected in two crooked halves by a long, forked crack that splintered the small mirror down the middle.

_I guess I have, too._

MacCready stirred when she settled beside him on the bed, his bare skin warm beneath her fingertips as she traced them down the curve of his spine, pausing to follow the lightning-thin arc of a scar, end-to-end. She could hear the hitch of his breath when he woke, and for a moment longer, he enjoyed the stroke of her touch before shifting over onto his back to squint up at her.

A knowing rumble sounded in his chest, still rough with sleep but undoubtedly amused. Muscles pulled taut as he stretched, shuddering through a lazy yawn. "Y'gotta stop letting me sleep in."

Her grin was unrepentant. "Probably, yeah."

He sat up with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand through his bed-mussed hair, blue eyes swinging her way to study the shape of her features. "Feelin' all right?"

"Like too much whiskey and too little sleep," she admitted with a dry laugh.

"I figured. Don't worry, I'm up," he assured her with a swift peck on the cheek, and rolled out of bed in search of clothing. It didn't take him long to get all of his things together - it never did, really, _practical wasteland brat_ \- and together they braved the bright Commonwealth morning sun that was waiting for them outside the Rexford's doors.

MacCready held an arm over his face, grumbling a complaint even with the dark shades protecting his eyes.

"Lord in heaven, what the fuck was I thinking?" River moaned, and clutched at the side of her aching head. The blinding beams of sunlight pressed like heavy stones into the backs of her sensitive eyes, a lance of pain digging in beneath bone and tissue. "I'm _way_ too old to be drinking like that."

The sound of his laughter softened the sharp prickle throbbing at the base of her skull. _God, the man is like relief incarnate, and he doesn't even have to try._ "You callin' me a bad influence?"

She found herself smiling, despite the pain building in her temples. "Absolutely."

"I can live with that." He smirked, arrogant and pleased as he rolled one of his shoulders in a half-shrug. "I like when you're bad."

A scowl chased the smile from her lips, and she stepped forward to grab him by the collar, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I am gonna _kick_ you if you tease me all day when we can't do anything about it."

MacCready laughed, less repentant than she would've liked. "All right, all right, I'll be good," he promised, holding his hands up.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

They found Nick pacing in Hancock's office when they reached the state house, the sharp smell of freshly-brewed coffee filling the open room. He paused mid-stride and looked up at them in the doorway.

"Morning, kiddos. Thought you could probably use a pick-me-up after last night," the synth explained, smiling warmly at the enamored look on River's face as she drifted like a woman possessed toward the coffee pot on the table.

"God bless you, Nick Valentine," she sighed, already ripping a glove off with her teeth and helping herself to a mug. "Want some?" she offered MacCready teasingly.

He grimaced. "That stuff? No thanks."

"You're so cute." River laughed when a blush stained his cheeks. She sucked a drop of coffee from her thumb, blowing over the steaming black liquid to cool it down. "Hancock still asleep?"

"Just getting his things," Nick answered. "I think our safest bet is to head southwest out of the city. Mostly empty wasteland other side of I-90, at least until we hit the river, and we can head south from there."

"The I-90, huh?" She glanced down reflexively at her Pip-Boy, a reminiscent smile shaping the curve of her lips. "Eight on a Tuesday? Traffic'll be a nightmare."

"Yeah, well." The old synth chuckled. "Somehow I think we'll make good time."

MacCready rolled his eyes. "You guys are so _old_."

She gave a sudden snort of laughter, flushing pink at the sound and glaring when it drew a fond laugh from MacCready in response. She took another sip of coffee to busy her hands, her cheeks warm.

Footsteps in the hall drew their attention to the doorway just as Hancock sidled through it, a long, black coat sweeping around his legs. He fiddled with the studded leather armor strapped over his chest, grumbling under his breath. "Damn thing. Been forever since I've worn it. . ."

"Looks good on you," River offered, regarding him with a tilt to her head. "Intimidating."

"Everything looks good and intimidating on me." He did a double take at the sight of her in her general's outfit and gave her a look of his own, black eyes dropping down the length of her blue coat and climbing back up to her face, one of her brows arching curiously back at him. "Ah, you're killin' me here, cher," he complained in a groan before dragging his gaze regretfully away. "Good as I look in my normal duds, no way in hell I'm bringin' the coat into the glowing sea to be eaten up by all the rads and deathclaws."

"What about the hat?" MacCready asked, the hint of a smirk lifting his features.

"That leaves my head the day I fuckin' die in it." He kicked MacCready's boots down from his coffee table and stepped past him to a cabinet against the far wall, pulling a shotgun from its shelves. "Gotta say, I'm excited to see the Minutemen General in action for myself."

River rolled her eyes. "If you're hoping to see something extraordinary, you're gonna be disappointed. It's mostly a lot of dithering about while MacCready keeps me alive."

"Aw, come on," he interjected from beside her, low and teasing. "You're gonna make me blush."

"Yeah, you really shouldn't," Hancock agreed with a mock-stern glance in her direction. "Gonna go straight to his head."

"Oh, I know it," River agreed, and laughed when the arrogant bastard in question playfully snapped his teeth at her.

"Finish up that coffee, doll." Nick struck a match and held it to the cigarette at his lips, waving the flame out once it was lit. "Got a long day ahead of us."

Hancock nodded in agreement, his body a casual slant against the edge of his desk, the fingers drumming over its surface betraying his anticipation.

"You look eager," River observed from over the rim of her mug.

He turned black eyes her way with a wolfish grin. "Not gonna lie, all this easy livin's got me antsy, no matter what Holliday's got to say about it."

"Well, you found the right person to help, then." She set her empty mug down and fished through her pockets for a pack of chewing gum, popping a chalky white stick into her mouth before wiggling her fingers back into her glove.

"Hey, you found me, remember?" Hancock reminded her as he followed them back toward the hall.

"I guess you're right." She glanced over at MacCready, amusement curving the end of his mouth up into that cocky smirk, and she realized at the sight of it that she'd found all three of them - even Nick Valentine, locked away from the rest of the world in a vault deep underground, just like she'd been. Next she would find Virgil. And after that, Shaun. "It was Dogmeat who found you, to be fair."

The smirk edged his laughter toward arrogance as he caught the envy in her tone. "I told you, he loves you more. He's just makin' sure I stay in line."

River smiled then, perpetually weak for the cocky tilt to his mouth. "Keeping you out of trouble." _Keeping you safe. . . like he knows I couldn't bear to lose you._ "That's a full-time job."

"Yeah, yeah. Between the two of you, I think you got it covered."

She took in the familiar shape of his smile, unwaveringly fond, even after what they'd been through - what they'd suffered. _God in heaven, I hope so._

_I'll do whatever it takes._

* * *

It wasn't long before Hancock got his wish.

And because she couldn't _always_ get her way, despite MacCready's steadfast insistence otherwise, super mutants were the first trouble they encountered. Chem-crazed raiders and even hissing, erratic feral ghouls were easy enough to handle compared to mutants; she'd yet to meet a single one who didn't absolutely dwarf her in size, and the sheer bulk of them always knotted cold fear tight behind her ribcage, staining each breath she drew in dark and heavy with dread.

She pressed up against the crumbling edge of a building, flinching when a lucky shot grazed her armored elbow with the deafening _ting_ of bullets on steel. With shaking hands, she tried to reload, forcing herself to measure each breath as she took it, hollow and stale through the filter of her helmet, pacing them evenly to quell the spike of fear-laced adrenaline winding deeper through her veins with every beat of her racing heart. Down a nearby alley, she could hear Nick's pistol and blasts from Hancock's shotgun as they tracked around to flank them, and a curl of the ghoul's dark, wild laughter that followed, confident and undoubtedly pleased.

MacCready knelt behind a hollowed-out bus across the street, leaning out of cover to take precise, calculated shots with his rifle, waiting for a break in gunfire. Even at the foot of the hulking, skeletal skyscrapers that stretched up like broken teeth from the buckled Boston streets, sunlight glinted off the metal of his armor as he moved, sprinting to duck into cover beside her.

"Gonna eat you, human!" a mutant roared from further down the street.

"In a minute!" MacCready called absently over his shoulder at the mutant, then turned to River on his other side, reloading with a few deft twists of his hand. "There's a bombed-out office down the street. Wall sticks out into the road. I can cover and can get you in throwing distance." He scanned the lines of her helmet, a scowl casting shadows over his eyes when he couldn't read her expression. "That okay?"

"I can do it," she promised him, and palmed one of the grenades in the pouch around her waist - Sturges-built for function, and Marcy-stitched for comfort. She shifted aside to let him take her place at the corner, waiting anxiously as he chanced a peek around the fractured stonework. He held his rifle up, sucked in a swift breath and fired twice in quick succession, letting out a huff of pride when they hit true. "All right, go . . . _now_!"

River darted around the corner, hurrying across the open street toward the crumbled office wall until she was sliding into cover behind it. There was a shriek of rage from one of the mutants as he charged in her direction, then a few sharp, resounding gunshots when MacCready quickly shot him down. In the brief moment of respite that followed, River crept to the edge of her cover and gauged the distance stretching between her and the mutant camp, her mind scrambling for some estimate of the strength and angle necessary to cross it when she'd always been such a horrible judge of both.

Then a streak of black material slipped out from the alley beside them, gunning one of the smaller mutants down before they were even aware of his presence. With a roar of wild laughter, Hancock drew the rest of their attention.

River pulled the pin on the grenade and took a step out into the open, bending her arm back behind her head. "Hancock, heads-up!" she shouted, and released it in a long, thankfully precise arc.

The ghoul glanced up from the dead mutant at his feet and disappeared back into the alleyway before the grenade rolled to a stop and the explosion went off, taking two more of them down in the blast. In the smoke-hazy chaos that ensued, he and Nick made quick work of the last few remaining mutants. Hancock was just slinging dark blood loose from his blade when River and MacCready marched over through the dust.

"Not bad, for the world's smallest General," he praised her, the gravel-scratch of his voice rich and high with adrenaline.

"You're not much bigger than I am," River noted as she kicked over mutant corpses, poking through the muck and grime for caps and ammunition, much bolder with the dead, mutated flesh than she would have been without the layers of powered metal between them.

"You aren't, actually, at least not while she's in the tin can," Nick added in a helpful tone, offering MacCready a cigarette, which he accepted with a thankful nod.

She worked the releases open on her helmet and pulled it loose, sucking in a deep breath of relatively fresh, unfiltered wasteland air in relief. "Grenades hardly take any skill."

"They do when they land right between some unlucky sap's feet." Hancock smirked, a dark, satisfied sliver of teeth and ruined lips. "Poor idiot barely had a chance to look down before he was in pieces."

River could have gone years without that mental image - one she'd witnessed herself, several times now - but there was something to be said about the ghoul's confidence, his utter delight in all the chaos and bloodshed, like the eye of the storm was right where he belonged and he'd cut you down in the blink of an eye to take his rightful place there.

And then he smiled at her, proud and amused but undeniably good-natured, a seamless transition, easy as the flip of a switch. "Time to get this freak show back on the road."

Nick wandered over to help her store what little she'd salvaged into her bag, zipping it closed before pushing it up over her shoulder again. "You did good, kid. Really comin' into your own out here."

River stepped wide around the bloated corpse of a mutant hound, nose wrinkled beneath drawn brows. "I guess I should be glad."

"About all this?" The synth waved a hand vaguely over the bloodied, smoking wreckage they'd left of the camp. "No, no, not at all. . . But if you're lookin' for somethin' to be glad about, I think you've got a good start on it."

"I do," she agreed fondly, and felt her cheeks grow warm as MacCready fell into step beside them, kicking mutant gore from the bottom of his armor. At Nick's knowing chuckle, she shot him a glare, though it was likely far less threatening with a blush on her face. "You're not really gonna make me talk boys, are you?"

"I dunno. Trip to the glowing sea could take days. Might start to get bored of small talk after a while."

MacCready sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. "Yeah, it's gonna seem like I'm leaving to avoid this conversation, but. . ."

"Go on, then," River laughed, and the two of them watched him hurry to catch up with Hancock ahead. The ghoul grinned up at him and nudged the side of his armor, then rubbed his elbow with a grumble of annoyance. "So, you've scared him off. Something in particular you wanted to ask me?"

Nick let out a hard laugh. "Can't get anything past you, can I?"

" _Detective_ ," she chided, flashing him a crooked smile.

"I know, I know. Should know better by now. The kid seems to, anyways."

River nodded in understanding, and the curve of her smile shifted angles, thoughtful now, amused. "Well, he's a quick learner. Old timers like us . . . we need some adjustment time."

"My adjustment time ran out a long time ago, doll." He said the words with reflexive humor, like he'd been repeating them and similar sentiments for so long, it really wasn't a matter of believing or not believing anymore. "Just wanted to check in, see how you're holding up. I'm sure the past few months haven't been the easiest you've ever spent."

"I've had easier," she agreed lightly, then half-winced at the obvious understatement. "I mean, I'm not whistling showtunes while I mow down super mutants, but I guess I'm coming along." Something dark and bleak tugged at the ends of her thoughts, sewing doubt, dense and inky-black within her. "I still worry all the time . . . is it too soon? Am I ready for - for -" She spread her hands out in a vague gesture toward the horizon. "Whatever it is that's waiting for me?"

Nick fell silent, parsing the shift in her expression through precision-keen yellow optics. "Wish I could say. Frankly, I'd be more concerned if you _weren't_ worried. After everything that happened to you and your family, I'd expect you to feel lost, scared . . . mad as hell. I sure did. Took me a long damn time to get a feel for this place."

River eyed him warily, waiting.

"But I've never seen anybody land on their feet the way you have. Two hundred years and atomic war couldn't take you out. I think you'd be hard-pressed to find somethin' you can't handle."

She huffed a breath in response, not quite laughter, but something close to amusement.

He smiled faintly, and swung a swift glance forward, where MacCready had swiped the hat from Hancock's head and was holding it up out of his reach with a ring of laughter, until the ghoul kicked one of his legs into the other, nearly tripping him mid-stride. "As for other matters . . . 'fraid I'm really not the right synth to say. Only one who knows that is you, peach."

River flushed at the pet name, and the gratified smile that crossed Nick's face confirmed her growing suspicion that the man missed absolutely nothing.

"Way I see things, you deserve any goodness you can find, and you shouldn't feel bad about it. What you're goin' up against . . . you're gonna need all the help you can get at your side."

She blinked down at him, only slightly taller in her armor, then dropped her gaze to the impact-buckled asphalt they walked. The sound of her laughter seemed to startle him, and she smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry to laugh. MacCready does that to me all the time, it's infuriating." She reached over and delicately curled her gloved hand over his shoulder, trying to press all the affection she could into the small gesture. When that didn't quite feel like enough, she leaned closer and pecked the side of his cheek, patting his shoulder as his eyes widened in surprise. "You're just the synth I needed, Nick. Thank you."

"I told you, I don't blush. Not in the programming," he teased with a wry lift of his brows. "And you can thank me when we've got your boy back."

"Looking forward to it." She sighed heavily. "And getting out of this fuckin' armor. Pardon my French."

Nick laughed, the webbed, metallic skeleton of his right hand shifting instinctively to his belly, like her father always did when something really tickled him. "Used to be a cop, sweetheart. Nothing I haven't heard before. Anyway, I think I remember a dock not far from here. The boathouses there would make a decent place to hole up for the night." At her expectant look, he shrugged and estimated another few hours.

River groaned and rolled her head from side to side, stretching the cramp from her neck. A deep breath brought a little of the steel back to her spine, and she straightened her shoulders within her armor. "I can do that."

He pulled her pack of gum out of his breast pocket and peeled a stick loose from its wrapper, offering it to her between two skeletal fingers. "Least the company's decent, right?"

The gum was stiff and stale but familiar between her teeth, and just the sensation of sinking her molars down into the rubbery substance calmed her nerves. "Couldn't agree more," she told him, and she meant it.

A few hours ended up passing quickly once Hancock got her talking. MacCready hung quietly by her side while she ranted and reminisced, Nick occasionally chiming in to agree, or disagree - though at times it seemed he played devil's advocate just to hear her protest vehemently to the contrary.

The hulking shadows of a ghost-town came and went, empty houses once homes, their former inhabitants long dead and forgotten. Normally River would have preferred to search through them for caps or salvage, but a heavy ache had settled into her joints and muscles from hours in the armor, and the prospect of finally crawling free of it urged her onward.

From the peak of a low hill, they paused to take in an expansive view of the surrounding area. The river babbled noisily from the west, and at the foot of the decline sat an arrangement of boathouses, hugging three long docks that stretched out into the running waters.

"It's no Rexford, but it'll do," Nick offered jokingly.

"I've got all I need to make it cozy," River assured him as she started down the hill.

Hancock followed close behind her, an eager grin on his face. "Sure your circuits'll be okay around all this water, Nicky?"

"Touching as your concern is, John, I think I'll be fine."

"Bit early to call it a night, but I'm beat," River admitted to MacCready at her side, quiet under the sound of Hancock's laughter.

"No reason to exhaust yourself before we even get there." He reached up as if to catch a loose lock of her hair before he glanced back at the other two and lowered his hand. He cleared his throat and stared ahead. "Should save your energy, while you still have it."

They crunched through fire-blackened tree trunks, burnt down to slivers over time, dry dirt and desiccated plant life crumbling beneath their feet. Eventually the brittle earth gave way to the asphalt of an old parking lot, and the ever-sturdy buildings standing near the docks were a more than welcome surprise.

"Not bad, Nick," River approved. "I might be able to get a full night's rest here."

"Anything for the pre-war princess," Hancock cut in teasingly, grinning at the glare she sent him.

"I'm gonna pick you up and throw you, string bean."

"I'd pay good caps to see that," Nick added with relish. "Minutemen General tossin' the mayor of Goodneighbor like a shotput."

"Hell, I'd pay good caps to let ya do it."

River muffled her laughter into a powered glove, lingering close behind MacCready as he crept further toward the two buildings. He pointed out the blinking red of frag mines, and River tiptoed closer to quickly deactivate them, stuffing them away into her bag.

"Somebody set those," he murmured. "Stay close."

"Always."

The briefest smile shaped his lips, and then he was moving carefully up against the southern building, pressing his back to the rusted metal wall as Nick and Hancock fell in behind them. "I don't like this. We're asking to get ambushed."

"Last time I came through, these were a ghost town, but anything could've settled in since then," Nick said cautiously.

Hancock peered around the corner of the chipped brick wall. "There's a door about halfway down. I'll loop around to the other side, be ready to give ya a little back-up from behind."

"Be careful," River whispered.

He shot her a wink and disappeared around the corner.

"Could be anything in there," Nick remarked, and checked the chamber of his pistol. "Maybe you should hang back here."

MacCready was smiling before the scowl even touched River's features. "Not a chance."

"Worth a shot, old man," he commended the synth wryly, then jerked his head toward the docks, the blue of his eyes hardening into steel. "Let's go, then."

When they rounded the edge of the building Hancock was nowhere to be found, though their pathway stood now clear of mines. They'd made it hardly halfway toward the door before a creak of wooden floorboards stopped all three of them short, and the dry, cold voice of an older woman whipped out from a narrow opening in one of the windows above them. The narrow barrel of a pistol slid out through the shattered remains of glass, angled down at MacCready as the head of their group.

"I don't know who you kids are, but you'd better clear out before I go haywire and blast you!"

River froze behind him, thoughts racing through several different potential reactions, drowning beneath the sudden onslaught of _not him, do whatever it takes, just not fucking him_. Finally, when MacCready tensed as if to fire, she grasped blindly at instinct and spoke up, lifting her hands above her head. "Easy there! We don't want any trouble. Just passing through, looking for a safe place to sleep for the night."

" _Bullshit_ ," the woman replied, and from her current angle, River couldn't make out any of her features, only the grim weight to her voice. "No one comes out here. You can't lie to a synth, kid. We can hear it in your voice. Should know that with the company you keep," she added, spite hanging heavy in her words.

"If that's the case, then you know I'm telling the truth," River answered easily, even as the panic sprinted like ice through her veins. _I'm a General. I'm a General, and a mother, and a fucking survivor. I can protect my family. I can protect my friends._ Even if she didn't believe them, the words left strength ringing through her tired bones. "I've spent a long day in this armor, and I'd love to climb out of it. Can we have a moment to talk? Just the two of us, you and me?"

The rifle lowered, then retracted back into the building. There was the thud of boots over old wood, then the woman finally appeared from behind the crumbling brick wall. Her pistol hung low but tense at her side, ready to be lifted and fired at a moment's notice as she stared them down through distrustful slits of eyes. River could practically feel the unease rolling off of her companions in waves from behind her, but after a long, strained moment, she gave a reluctant nod. "Be wiser for you to just move on, but . . . your funeral," she relented, and slid her pistol back into its holster. "Couple more mines by the door. Watch your step on the way in," she added, her voice abruptly quiet, and overwhelmingly weary.

River glanced back at her companions, Hancock slinking back from the other end of the building to join them. "So that went . . . well?"

MacCready shook his head. "You and your freakin' diplomacy," he muttered, and turned hard eyes her way, lowering his voice. "Look, I'm gonna trust you on this, because I know you could talk your way out of anything. But if that lady -" and he pointed a finger back toward the blue metal door, "so much as _looks_ at you funny, I'm taking her out."

She pressed her palm to his cheek as Nick and Hancock both awkwardly turned away, the ghoul scratching at the back of his neck. "RJ. . ."

He laid his hand over hers, warm and rough against her skin. "I'm not taking any chances, okay? Not with you." His eyes slipped closed for a brief second, before he opened pain-heavy blue to her once more. "Not again."

"Lucky for you I'm very charming," she joked, tone too flat to be amusing, though it still won a low chuckle in response.

"I know you are, beautiful."

River climbed out of her power armor with a sigh of relief, straightening her coat and the straps of her bag. The ginger-haired woman opened the door and invited her in with a brusque nod of her head, turning to set her pistol down onto the counter at her side. Standing this close to her, River could make out the weary, desperate sheen to her eyes, sunken and exhausted among dark shadows from weeks of bad sleep and despair.

"Don't know what your angle is, talkin' to a synth," she groused as she lit herself a cigarette. "Most people 'round here woulda shot me dead already."

River edged carefully into the room, hands hung loosely at her sides, deceptively casual, but ready to reach for the pistol holstered at her side. MacCready leaned in the doorway, rifle slung over his shoulder, a silent presence of reassurance. "Obviously I'm, uh . . . not your average wastelander," she offered with a half-smile, gesturing out at her companions through the doorway.

The woman's eyes flickered out in their direction, and she snorted softly, more disbelief than amusement. "S'pose you're right."

"Besides, I'm not entirely convinced you're a synth yet," River went on in a steady, soothing tone - a tone she'd used to calm hundreds of court-anxious children, a couple hundred years ago. "And even if you are, you've given me no reason to kill you. That's not what I'm about. Why don't you just tell me what's been going on?"

The hand resting on the counter tightened into a fist, pallid knuckles dappling white with strain. "They've got something they use to . . . to control us, make us do things we don't want to do," she said in a raw voice. "Any second now they might send some signal, or I'll see the color orange, or whatever it is they do, and _BOOM_! One more dead fool."

River flinched at the sudden outburst, quickly banishing the shock from her expression.

"Now are you guys gonna get out of here, or wait for them to make me try to kill you?" Cold, hard resignation chopped her words into a jagged cadence. _This woman is ready for death._ "Probably couldn't take the four of you. Imagine that'd be the end of ol' Phyllis. That's probably what they want at this point. Tie up the loose ends."

"They've got some smart cookies over at the Institute," River reasoned in agreement. "But if that's what they wanted, I can promise you they would've done it already. What's made you think you're a synth?"

The lines of her face went slack, as if she could no longer bear the weight of her defensiveness. "Look, you're takin' a big risk sittin' here talking to me. If it'll get you to leave, and get out before I hurt you. . ." She heaved a deep sigh, casting her eyes away from River, to the cracked countertop where her pistol sat. "My grandson Samuel and I, we'd been on our own since my daughter died. I managed to get us in on a farm. Hard on these old bones, but . . . it kept us fed."

River curled her fingernails into the faded material of her trousers, swallowing back a sudden dryness in her throat as she listened.

"I was on watch one night," Phyllis went on. "I - I don't. . ." She took another slow breath and started again. "I'm sitting there, with a gun across my knees, looking out over the hill and . . . and I think I fell asleep. . . It's all just _blank_. The next thing I remember is the sound of a gunshot shaking me out of it."

River knew how her story was going to end, but the words still struck her like waves and waves of frigid ice water, freezing up all the breath in her lungs.

"And Samuel is at my feet, and . . . there's _blood everywhere_."

After a beat of tense, withering silence that ached like a wound in the cavern behind her ribs, River found her voice again. "Please, I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you, but . . . please, tell me the rest."

"There's nothing else to tell," she went on, her voice hastening with regret. "Everyone came running out, but it was just me and Samuel. No raiders. No gunners. Just . . . blood. One moment he was there, and then the next - just gone. Those little fingers that used to hold my hand. . ." _Soft little fingers, still wrinkled and so impossibly tiny in her palm as she counts them, one to ten, then the ten little toes of his kicking feet. Shaun Joseph Mason, born one-thirty-eight in the afternoon, seven pounds and nine ounces of the most perfect human being she'd ever seen._ The faint sound of the other woman's voice broke through her memory, banishing the pristine white tile of the hospital from the edges of her thoughts. "And it's all my fault. You can't imagine what that's like."

"You're right," River agreed, barely a whisper. "Losing family . . . there's nothing like it. Nothing that hurts more. I watched my husband murdered, my son taken from his arms . . . I was powerless to stop it."

A resounding silence followed, and she lifted her eyes from the dirt-streaked floor back to the other woman's gaze. "I'm sorry," Phyllis offered, in that familiar tone of acknowledgment, that platitudes stood for little in the face of such suffering. "I hope you find him. Family is the only thing worth a damn in this world. Even if . . . even if he wasn't _really_ my grandson. Even if they just implanted those memories into my brain. 'Cause who would've done that to their own flesh and blood?" She shook her head solemnly. "Now you know why I'm here, and why you all need to leave before they make me kill again. I'm a synth, and I can't be trusted."

"One of my best friends is a synth, and I've trusted him with my life," River said matter-of-factly. "With my son's life, even. You obviously loved your grandson, and love him still. Your anguish over his death proves as much. I wouldn't still be talking to you if I didn't see that." She looked down at her hands, knuckles bruised and lined with dirt. "We're going after a man who can help me find my son. It's not going to be an easy journey. I'm terrified, if I'm being completely honest. And I can't change what's happened in the past, but . . . you can make a difference for my family." She set her shoulders, lifting her head to meet the other woman's gaze. "I can pay you caps, or offer you work, if you want it. Or we can just leave and be out of your hair in the morning. But I'm asking you, mother to mother, if you'd let us stay in the boathouse for a night."

Phyllis' eyes went wide with disbelief. "You'd still ask for my help, knowing what I've done?" She wrung her hands, then brushed over the ends of her jacket, clearing her throat. "I guess . . . I guess you're right. I gotta find a way to make peace with what happened. I can't keep running from it anymore." A sad smile shaped the tense line of her mouth. "Thanks, kid. For taking the time to talk to me. You've given me a lot to think about. Boathouse is the least I could offer in return." She nodded vaguely toward the docks. "Stay as long as you like. I won't bother you none."

River held her hand out, and after another moment of surprise, Phyllis shook it. "Thank you, Phyllis. My name is River Bautista, and if you ever need a single thing from me or my Minutemen, you come find me at the Castle and it's yours."

"Minutemen, huh?" She huffed out a hard laugh. "Who knows? Maybe one day I'll forgive myself enough to be around people again."

"I hope so." She patted the other woman's hand in gratitude and turned back to the doorway, where MacCready had been watching in silence, a crease furrowed between his brows. "C'mon. Let's go get some rest."

He threw one last cursory glance over her shoulder, where Phyllis was retreating up the stairs, then took her hand and stepped back into the alleyway. Nick and Hancock were waiting and ready just outside the door, and they relaxed at the smile that spread across her face.

"She's not gonna shoot us, and we can stay in the boathouse for the night," she reassured them, twisting the latch to her power armor open.

"Told you," MacCready muttered with a smirk in the ghoul's direction, and Hancock merely snickered in response.

River climbed back into her suit, tucking her coat in close around her before it sealed shut, closing her in once more. "Should I even ask?"

"MacCready's just lettin' me know how things work in the 'Wealth, now that you're runnin' it."

She laughed, easing down from the tension of their near-altercation. "And don't you forget it."

"Yes, ma'am," the ghoul promised with a cheeky smirk, and a couple years ago, she would've bristled at the honorific, but now it felt almost . . . right. _Certainly old enough for it now, anyways._

The boathouse was cramped with upturned shelves and cabinets, but surprisingly dry for its proximity to the water's edge. With the armor to do the heavy lifting, River and MacCready managed to shove most of the larger obstructions aside, clearing out a few areas of open space.

"Cozy," she announced, pulling the fusion core from her armor and dropping it into her bag. "Enough for this princess, anyways. It'll do, right?"

"'Course," Hancock said, as he hung his trench coat from a tool rack against the wall. "You don't have to worry about us, doll. I'm not complainin'."

"I'll go gather up some wood," Nick offered, hitching a thumb toward the hills they'd left behind to the east. "See if I can't get a fire going before you humans start freezin' to death on me."

"I didn't think you cared," MacCready shot back with a grin.

The synth rolled his eyes as he strode for the door, rumbling a gravelly "Smart ass," under his breath before he left.

River drifted to the end of the dock, rubbing the chill from her arms. The sun was sinking slowly behind the mountains on the horizon, sky flushing rose-gold from its light. She kicked out of her boots, and she was just peeling the socks from her feet when she heard MacCready come up beside her.

"Just couldn't stay away from the water, could you?" he teased, his tone fond, as she sat down on the edge of the dock and started rolling her pants up.

"Nope. " She smiled up at him. "Wanna join me?"

He heaved a sigh, setting his rifle down at his side. "You know I don't _like_ water, right?"

"Mmn." She lifted her face against the last few rays of sunlight breaking out over the distant mountaintops. "But you like me."

At that, he managed a reluctant laugh, a hiss cutting the sound short when he dipped his feet into the freezing water beside hers. He shivered at the cold temperature and shifted a few inches closer, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. "Guess I must, if I'm here." He lit hers, and then his own, flipping the lighter closed and sliding it back into his pocket. "Must like you somethin' crazy." And he laughed again, softer now, thoughtful. "Don't know what karma I cashed, but I definitely don't deserve someone as good as you."

"RJ." Her voice sharpened into an edge of disapproval.

"I know, I know," he said flippantly, and from his tone, it was clear this wasn't the last time they'd have this conversation. But she'd promise him with every breath if it meant one day he'd believe it; the conviction sat certain as steel in the marrow of her bones, stronger with each determined, wild promise that flitted through her thoughts, _I dream of you, of your touch, of the way you look at me when we're alone. I'd tear down heaven and hell for you, I'd fight until I bleed, I'd burn the Commonwealth to ash._

_God help me, I must love him._

She ducked her head against his shoulder, and he hummed low in his throat, glancing up as Hancock wandered over. He passed MacCready a beer and eased down onto a rusted lawn chair, testing its legs beneath his weight before finally stretching his legs out and relaxing.

"How's the water?"

"Freakin' freezing." He twisted the cap off of his beer and flicked it into the river, watching it bob away with the gentle current. "Don't know why I let her talk me into stuff like this."

Hancock clicked his tongue skeptically. "I could probably guess a few reasons."

"And you'd probably be right," River piped up without opening her eyes, and heard the ghoul chuckle in response.

"Nicely done back there," he complimented her. "Don't know too many people who woulda bothered talkin' her down."

"There's enough heartbreak already. I'd rather not add to it, if I can help it." She inhaled a drag of stale smoke and released it into the rapidly cooling air as the sky grew darker above them. "Besides, I have back-up."

He nodded, for once with no hint of teasing. "Ya really do."

Nick returned shortly with his arms full of blackened tree branches, and MacCready jumped up to help him start a fire, eager to dry himself off.

"We're gonna find him, cher," Hancock promised her, voice lowered to a soft rasp. "I'd bet my life on it, and I don't just say that to any dame."

River smiled, reaching over to pat him on the knee. "Thanks, Hancock. I really owe you one."

"Nah. You just keep that pretty smile on your face. All a ghoul like me could ask for. 'Course, if ya ever want to show your gratitude in other ways, I wouldn't complain about that either." And he winked at her, wiggling the remains of his brows.

"You're incorrigible," she laughed.

He grinned wolfishly. "From what I hear around the Rexford, you might be worse than I am."

"Oh, lord." River flushed with warmth, wondering who exactly might have overheard them, and what exactly they might've relayed to Hancock in turn.

"Far be it from me to judge a woman for _that_ , least of all you. You two can fuck the walls down for all I care." His eyes found hers, glinting with amusement and something else, a deepening fascination, edging toward hunger. "Gotta admit, I'm curious what he does to make ya scream like that."

She smiled, even as her cheeks burned pink. "A lady never tells."

"You wouldn't, would ya?" He tipped the neck of his bottle toward her in respect. "Damn pre-war broads, so damn cryptic all the time."

"We're the worst, right?" River rose to her feet, shaking water from her legs. She squeezed his shoulder as she passed and padded over to join MacCready and Nick by the fire. By some wasteland miracle, she managed to get enough water boiling to whip up some insta-mash, and it wasn't particularly appealing, but her stomach was more or less accustomed to eating for survival at this point. Her standards were still leagues above MacCready's, who seemed overjoyed with anything she managed to scrounge together at all.

 _Men_ , she thought fondly as he shoveled scoops of lumpy potatoes into his mouth. She'd forgotten the satisfaction that came with caring for someone like this - there really was nothing else like it. Yet even as it filled her with pride, a part of her ached with longing for her son. _I should be protecting him, too. Making him two hundred year old pasta, and tucking him into tattered sheets at night._

_Soon. I'm gonna find you, honey. I promise._

Nick set his coat aside and rolled up his sleeves to help her wash up in the river, his tie tucked beneath a few of his buttons. He smiled wryly when she giggled, flicking water gently in her direction. "Sure, laugh it up. That's what a synth gets for lending a hand."

"Thank you, Nick." She reached over and squeezed the frame of his metallic hand, tighter when he gripped hers briefly back. The sound of MacCready and Hancock's laughter rang out behind her, warmed by alcohol and a half-decent meal. She turned back to the river and stared out over the rippling water, where moonlight dappled along the surface. "I miss my son," she confessed, barely more than a whisper. "I worry sick, can't sleep without nightmares. I don't . . . I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have MacCready." Her shoulders slumped as she drew her knees up against her chest. "Some big strong General I am."

The synth slung the water from his hands and slowly tugged the sleeves back down his arms, choosing his words. "Lucky for you, I don't think the kid's going anywhere." His brief smile flattened out into an earnest line. "And you're a damn fine General. I hear there's a whole army of Minutemen who'd agree with me. You're stronger than you think, River. Trust me, I'm a detective. I know everything."

She laughed then, and his smile returned. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments longer, admiring the spread of stars that stretched across the night sky, glittering constellations that Nick pointed out with familiar ease.

"They're harder to find when there's so many. Didn't used to be able to see 'em all like this."

"I guess atomic fire was good for something, huh?"

He snorted in dry amusement, and she pecked him on the cheek before stretching to her feet. "I'm turning in. You gonna be all right?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He settled in the lawn chair overlooking the water and fished the cigarettes from his breast pocket, flicking his match out into the water once it was lit. Boots scuffing over wood announced MacCready's presence before the man came to a stop at his side, clearing his throat.

"Somethin' on your mind, kid?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head from side to side, searching for words. "Look, I don't wanna kill that old lady any more than you do, and River's good - I mean, she's _amazing_ \- but. . ."

Nick's optics swept back over to the building across the alley, his voice grave with understanding. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye out."

MacCready nodded, lingering awkwardly at the synth's side. "Good. Thanks, I mean. Appreciate it."

He chuckled. "Get out of here, kid. Go get some rest, keep our General warm."

A blush warmed MacCready's cheeks, and he stalked away with a scowl. "Now who's bein' smart?" he muttered.

Hancock lounged over a set of cabinets, back resting against the cold metal wall behind him. He whittled at a length of wood with his blade, flickering black eyes up at MacCready as he passed. "You two want a little privacy, I could probably get Nicky away for a little bit."

"You're hilarious," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

"'Course, if ya _wanted_ an audience, s'pose I wouldn't say no."

MacCready laughed despite himself. "Prick. You stay on your half of the gross, wet boathouse."

Hancock cracked a grin back at him. "I'm wounded."

"Yeah, right." He clambered over a crate to reach the nook River had carved out for them in the far corner. She was sprawled out over the thin bedroll, white hair and pale skin glowing gold in the dim ring of light from an oil lantern. A smile brightened her face when he shrugged his coat and cap off and crawled in beside her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

River nibbled on her lip, shining amber eyes at him from under long, dark lashes. "I want to show you something," she murmured softly, leaning in to kiss the edge of his mouth. "Been thinking about it all day."

She heard him swallow, and he glanced back toward where Hancock was perched on his cabinet, whistling to himself. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmn. I think you'll like it, too." She smiled, flushing at the hunger that darkened in his eyes, and reached past him into her bag, pulling a recently found _Unstoppables_ comic from within and dangling it temptingly before him. "Issue 74, _Lair of the Fire Queen_."

MacCready blinked in surprise, then ducked his head against her shoulder to muffle his laughter. "Let me guess. It's a Mistress of Mystery issue."

"Of course," she replied haughtily, spreading it out on the floor in front of them. "The Shroud can't get all the glory."

He smiled and planted a kiss at the curve of her throat, dragging the press of blunt teeth teasingly over her skin. "I'll get you back for that," he promised in a low voice.

"Oh, I don't doubt it, _cariño_."

His eyes widened briefly at the term of endearment, and he turned away just before a red flush colored his cheeks.

 _God, I love making you blush_. She kissed him and curled closer to his side. Huddled together for warmth, they flipped through the wrinkled, brittle pages until her eyes grew too heavy to keep open. His presence was inherently familiar now, the weight and smell of him a constant, soothing comfort. She was pretty sure she'd run all out of those, and yet here he was, stroking his fingers through her hair as she drifted toward unconsciousness. The last thing she felt before sleep took her was the brush of his lips at her temple, soft and loving.

The nightmares she anticipated never came. She floated instead through warm, easy darkness, dancing around flickers of dreams that never formed, glimpses of her son, the child in Kellogg's memories, staring at her with a dead man's eyes.

She would find Virgil. She would find the Institute. She would get her son back, and she would never let anyone break them apart again.

She was betting her life on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Thank you so, so much to all the wonderful people who still read this story, new and old, I'm so grateful for all the love you've ever left me! ;v; I'm really gonna push to get these out faster, because I know these updates take forever and I apologize!!
> 
> Fun author's note: had to look up regional dialect markers to see if Nick would say 'I-90' or 'the I-90'. Also Hancock's got a thing for a lady in uniform and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> You can [follow me on tumblr](http://vaultie-glass.tumblr.com) for updates and fanart, or just stalk me and find out how weird I really am.


	23. Dare to Dream

MacCready woke at precisely four thirty-three in the morning to the deafening rumble of thunder and rain battering the boathouse overhead. The light from River's Pip-Boy shocked his eyes when he checked the time, and he burrowed deeper into the bedroll with a groan, willing himself back to sleep. Maybe if he was quick enough, he could pick up right where he left off, floating through dreamless rest, safe from the storm.

"Thought I was the early riser," River piped up from behind him, roused by the thunder.

He rolled onto his back and peeked blearily at her from under his elbow. "Tell me that's not another storm outside."

"Mmn." She nuzzled closer with an amused little breath, squirming her way under his arm - as if she ever had to ask to be there. "Weatherman said sunny skies, but it wouldn't be the first time he led me wrong." She said it with the cadence of another pre-war reference - like most, lost to the centuries between them.

"Weather Man?" He met her gaze through the darkness as she peered up at him, watched a smile tug at the edge of her lips when his fingertips brushed the hair back from her face. "Huh. Guess I never read those ones. . ."

Her eyes went wide before she burst out in laughter, ducking her head into her hands to quiet her giggles. She laughed often, more than anyone he'd ever known, but he loved when it took her by surprise the most - when her eyes went bright like sunlight, and it felt a little like standing in its warmth, like the sound of it could fix all the wrong in him. After everything he'd been through, everything he'd done, that kind of hope was nothing short of miraculous.

He couldn't help a chuckle himself at the sound, easy with relief. "Does he just . . . predict the weather? 'Cause I gotta be honest, knockout, that sounds pretty stupid. Especially if he's gettin' it wrong half the time."

River was shaking her head back and forth, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, nearly out of breath by the time she finally managed to hold it together without lapsing back into giggles. She shifted onto her side and smiled down at him, a tender little curve to her lips that felt like a secret, open and vulnerable, a smile just for him, and his chest seemed to tighten abruptly at the thought. He felt her hand at the side of his face as she leaned in, her thumb tracing along his cheekbone.

"God, I love you," she sighed in a soft voice, warmly, as if she'd had the thought before but never voiced it, her words hardly louder than the thunderstorm crashing down around them but he'd heard every syllable clear as day, because _how could he not_ _have_? She seemed to realize what she'd said the same moment he did, and he watched a flush of pink stain her cheeks as she sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, no - I  . . ." She laughed again, bashful this time, a rarer treat, threading her fingers through her hair. "God, I didn't mean to say that. I mean, not yet. Not so suddenly, not here, on the floor in an old boathouse." She watched his face, anticipating the emotions there. "I'm sorry - I really didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."

He recognized the shadow of concern in her expression and realized abruptly he'd just been staring at her, dumbfounded - because he'd spent so long holding himself back, fighting his feelings tooth-and-nail, he hadn't put much thought into the possibility of _her_ falling in love with _him_. Wanting him around, sure, she'd told him as much before - as a friend, a protector, as a lover, finding comfort at his side - but loving him? Loving him the way he loved _her_ -

MacCready caught her face in his hands and kissed her, cutting her apology short, and she paused only for a breath before responding in earnest. He felt her hands grabbing at his undershirt, felt a moan low in her throat when he curled an arm around the small of her back. For once, he couldn't think about the storm outside, the dangers ahead, all the risks and many ways this had gone wrong for him in the past - just River, in his arms, kissing him like she never wanted to let him go.

Eventually she found the will to pull away, drawing in a slow breath as she tilted her forehead against his jaw. For a moment, they listened to the storm outside, the downpour and deafening thunder, the racing of his heart behind his ribs. He felt her fingertips tracing a scar on his shoulder when she finally spoke up. "You don't have to say anything," she promised at his ear, in a hushed voice. "But I _do_ mean it. I don't want you to think I don't, just because it slipped out sooner than I intended."

He curled his fingers around her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her fingertips, her palm, cold from the chill in the boathouse around them. "River." He held her hand to his face, savored her soft skin against his cheek and the way she waited anxiously on his reply, trying so hard to be patient. "You gotta know by now that I love you," he said, almost laughing; now that he was saying it out loud, he felt foolish for all the times he'd kept the truth to himself, and before that, all the times he'd denied it. "I love you like crazy. It's all I can think about sometimes, how much I love you."

"RJ." His name never sounded more right than when she said it, with that smile he loved on her face. What they had was worth protecting, worth fighting for, worth putting his heart on the line again. He certainly wouldn't have picked himself for the privilege, but River had - fallen in _love_ with him, even, after everything they'd been through, after loving and losing and two hundred years of cryo-sleep. Lifetimes between them and they'd managed still, somehow, to find each other.

"I love you," he said again, and it felt like starting over.

"I could really get used to that." River slipped a hand under the thin cotton of his undershirt, curling up against his side with his heart beating under her palm. "We might still be able to get some sleep before we have to go," she sighed regretfully, stifling a yawn into the back of her arm. "Maybe we'll dream of each other."

"I hope you do, angel." He laughed again. "I always dream of you."

* * *

After the quick breakfast River scraped together, MacCready waited with the others in the parking lot while she said goodbye to Phyllis. She'd insisted on thanking the old woman for her "hospitality" - despite the previous day, when she'd, _you know_ , pointed a gun at them - leaving her with a few extra mines and supplies. But his conversation with River lingered in his thoughts from earlier that morning, leaving him too warm with affection to put up a fight. He lit a cigarette and rubbed his hands together for what little heat it might generate, grateful at least that the storm had passed, even if it left a frigid morning in its wake.

It wasn't long before River finally joined them, stopping in the shadow of her power armor. She reached up to brush a gathering of rain from one of the shoulders, shaking the water from her fingers. "We're close, right?"

"We're not far," Valentine assured her. "Maybe an hour out."

One look at the horizon confirmed the dread in the pit of MacCready's stomach: the rising sunlight warped and darkened to the south, an ominous shadow of green creeping in. He'd never spent much time this far south, not if he could help it - too many rads, not enough caps - and he hated going in blind, with no idea where this Virgil might even be hiding out there. It left him tense in the shoulders as he helped River up into her armor, until he felt her hand slipping into his, squeezing his fingers briefly. She smiled when he met her gaze, an attempt at reassurance, and he loved her for it even if it couldn't ease the ache of worry from deep in his chest.

He climbed reluctantly into his own suit, gritting his teeth as it closed in cold and cramped around him. It had taken him a few days just to get used to carrying the weight of the armor, and he still felt off-center at times when taking his shots. He couldn't imagine how uncomfortable River felt, small as she was, even if the armor was for her protection.

Her expression was drawn when he glanced over, determination hard in her features, calm and focused and so damn _beautiful_ she took his breath away. Very much a woman who had faced down death, the pre-war relic who woke up to a wasteland and put a bullet in her husband's killer. And maybe the Institute was all-seeing, all-powerful and all-knowing, and maybe they had the Commonwealth trembling under their thumb, but they'd made a grave mistake, taking Shaun and leaving his mother alive.

And MacCready doubted they'd be ready when River Bautista finally found them.

Not the least because he intended to be right at her side when she did. She was bending the odds in her favor every day, and had half the Commonwealth and counting at her back already; by the time she found her son, the Institute was going to wish Kellogg had taken her out, too.

His chest warmed with pride at the thought. River wasn't just a survivor, she was a _fighter_ , a reason to hope. It was no wonder why Piper put her in her paper, why Hancock showered her with gifts, and Valentine let her put a piece of a killer in his brain - if anyone could finally take back what the Institute had stolen, they were all betting on River. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gotten her way, and MacCready would spend the rest of his days making sure it wasn't the last.

Hancock whistled a half-familiar tune as they started north along the river. MacCready kept his eye on the other bank, watching for movement. The sun had barely started to rise over the horizon when they neared the crumbling bridge across the Charles, and he caught a glimpse of motion in the distance.

"We've got company," he warned the others. "Mutants in that guard tower, up the river."

"We lay low, they shouldn't notice us," Valentine chimed in. "No need to stir up more trouble than we already have on our plate."

Hancock grinned at them, a gleam of excitement to the black of his eyes. "No early mornin' firefight to get the blood pumping, huh?"

"You've been sittin' around in that office too long," MacCready shot back. "You wanna go piss off a bunch of mutants, be my guest."

"We'll wait up for you," River added brightly, then, under her breath, "Not that we'd get far in these stupid things anyways." A thread of frustration strained her last few words, even through the filter of her helmet.

MacCready resented more than ever the layers of armor between them, closing her off from him. He couldn't read her features, the nuance to her smile, feel the pulse at her wrist when his own darkness and doubts came creeping back in - every part of her brought him comfort, and he felt the separation like an ache in his heart.

"Look, I know the armor's miserable, but I'd rather have you in it," he admitted, pressing his hand to her shoulder. He laughed a little before he could stop himself. "Okay - no, I'd _rather_ have you in nothing, but that'll have to wait until we're home."

She laughed then, more grateful than actually amused, but warm with heart nonetheless. "Home," she repeated softly. "I can't wait."

 _Yeah_ , MacCready agreed to himself, as River covered his hand with her own and stared off toward the horizon, her expression hidden behind the helmet.

_You've waited long enough._

The sky continued to darken despite the rising sun as they drew further south, twisting from pale blue to eerie, ominous green. The Pip-Boy at River's wrist started to click in protest, slowly at first but picking up the deeper south they forged. Eventually they left all traces of blue sky behind, pressed in on all sides by a green haze and the desiccated skeletons of dead trees that rose like jagged spikes from the earth. The road soon gave way to dry, brittle earth and pools of a shimmering gloss like gasoline. Above them, lightning raced in arcs across the sky, setting a heaviness to the air that chilled him to the bone. It felt at once both suffocating and terrifyingly vast, and a shiver of unease sank like cold water down his spine.

The sensation seemed to hit River at the same time, because she came to a stop beneath a break in the hulking overpass looming overhead. She looked out into the unending expanse of green-grey storm clouds that stretched over rusted metal and ruined earth, casting ominous shadows that shifted and scattered along the broken landscape. She pulled her helmet off and took a deep breath, chancing one last break from filtered air before they ventured further.  

"So," she finally said in a small voice, glancing over for his input. "Your thoughts?"

MacCready might have laughed if he wasn't so tense. _Only about a thousand, and none of them involve letting you walk into this hell on earth._ In spite of her strength, the woman he loved looked so dreadfully _small_ against the endless green wastes, dwarfed by the sheer immensity that faced them. His every instinct demanded he get her as far away from here as possible, back to safe land and sanity, if the Commonwealth could be called either - anything was better than this. But turning back would never be an option while Shaun was still missing; MacCready understood that better than anyone.

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I let anything bad happen to you," he told her instead. He couldn't promise they would find what she needed, only that he would be there to see her through it.

River was quiet for a long moment. Eventually she found a smile, weary and worried, and still the only wonder left in all this ruin. "I know," she finally agreed. Their gazes met, and her smile softened out, warming the cold from the tips of his fingers. "Thank you." It sounded like _I love you_.

"Good," he said, a touch of smugness creeping in. "Now could you please put that helmet back on before you get sick?"

She blew him a kiss and dutifully replaced her helmet, letting out a very put-upon sigh when it locked back into place.

Hancock chuckled under his breath at her reluctance. "Rads ain't great for the skin," he warned her in amusement. "I'd hate to see yours end up like mine . . . not that ya wouldn't make a stunning ghoul."

"Thanks, John. It's sweet when you care." River turned when he unexpectedly fell quiet. "I can call you John, can't I?" Even through the helmet, her voice was honey and teasing and smoke and MacCready could've listened to her speak forever.

The ghoul laughed, and his expression said something much the same. "I'm not gonna be the first idiot who didn't give ya what you want."

"You wouldn't be." MacCready braced his boot against a fallen tree trunk in their path and shoved it carefully aside. "The first one's dead."

"More to point," Hancock replied, offering River an easy smile. "Y'can call me whatever ya want 'cause you're my friend, not just because ya scare the hell out of me."

"I scare you?" Her voice climbed a few octaves in surprise.

There was a certainty to Hancock's gaze as he glanced her way. "You've been outta that vault, what? A few months? And you're already puttin' bullets in Institute mercs. Goin' toe-to-toe with the big villain and barin' your little teeth." He shot her a wolfish grin. "I'm shakin' in my boots."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Only a little, if ya believe me."

Valentine actually chuckled despite himself. "Not how I would've worded it, but I have to admit, I, uh, share the sentiment."

"Not you, too," River complained. "I'm not scary!"

"You don't look scary," MacCready corrected her, then smirked and dropped his voice to a mock-whisper. "That's what makes you so dangerous."

She considered his words as they forged further into the glowing sea, their boots sinking into rad-ruined earth the color of rust. "I don't feel dangerous," she admitted, quietly, as if it pained her. "I feel soft. I feel . . . small."

"You are soft, and small." MacCready sighed, reaching out to grip her hand in his. "But you're strong, too, stronger than me by a long shot." _Strong enough to love someone broken like me, even though it scares the hell out of us both._ "I know you might want to sometimes, but I'll never forget everything you've done for me. You're brave, and beautiful, and the Institute should be scared outta their minds."

River fell silent, squeezing gratefully at his hand, and in the brief moment of quiet, he heard the faint whisper of a rumble through the earth nearby. He had just enough time to shove River aside before the radscorpion burst from the ground between them. She staggered back with a panicked, "Shit!" and lifted her rifle, firing off two rounds as it charged after her.

MacCready brought his boot down with all of his strength, acting on instinct. He felt the crunch of cracking exoskeleton beneath his foot, and the scorpion hissed in pain, turning to jab at him with its stinger. He narrowly avoided the sharp, barbed end of its tail and batted it away with the butt of his rifle. River managed to land a shot in one of its legs, and it recoiled for a moment with a shriek.

"We got more!" Hancock called as two more radscorpions began to emerge from the darkened earth. The ghoul weakened one with his shotgun while Valentine tried to distract the other.

Between the ringing of gunfire, MacCready could hear River's frantic voice, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is my fucking _nightmare_!" She steadied her hands after a moment and sank a series of shots into the scorpion MacCready was fending off with his rifle, finally ending its life. They quickly looked each other over before turning to help finish off the other two beasts. River's armor took a few hits from their pincers, but they managed to escape mostly unharmed, if several rounds of ammo lighter.

"You're not hurt?" MacCready asked, and breathed out through his teeth in relief when River shook her head blankly. He leaned in and thanked her, pushing a few rounds of ammo into her hand, and she let out a shaken little laugh.

"Fuckin' wasteland," she muttered, sounding abruptly very tired, as if the energy had all left her with her hollow sigh.

"Come on, let's keep moving while we can," he encouraged her softly. He didn't want to say as much, but radscorpions were the least of their worries this side of the Commonwealth, and from the way Valentine kept scanning their surroundings with those eerie golden eyes, he wasn't the only one with concerns.

River nodded again, this time more determined. "Yeah, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm . . . I'm glad you guys are here," she added absently to the others. "I still think you're crazy for it, but I'm glad to have you with me."

"Don't mention it," Hancock replied. "Seriously. I'll thank ya for the chance to bite back at the Institute for once, maybe even keep the bastards from stealin' up our people in the middle of the night."

"Let's start with Shaun first," Valentine said, much to MacCready's gratitude. "We'll see how things play out from there."

"'Course," the ghoul agreed in an even tone, reloading his shotgun and slinging it back over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Nicky. I know what we're here for."

They lapsed into a pregnant silence as they walked, straining to listen for movement in the event their combat had drawn any attention. Minutes passed like hours, their progress impossible to determine in the desolate landscape. River noted a few landmarks in her Pip-Boy, but they gave most of the ruined buildings a wide berth. The closer they wound to the bombsite in the deep south, the more active the glowing sea grew around them, as if restless from the increasing radiation. They skirted deathclaws and feral ghouls in the distance and stuck to the last remnants of black asphalt that lined a path through the glowing wastes. 

Valentine kept an attentive eye out, picking off a few stingwings that skittered too close for comfort with expert aim. Normally Hancock liked to distract River with conversation, but he seemed to sense her exhaustion, and kept to himself instead. MacCready watched her closely, waiting for any stumble in her step or sign that she needed to stop. River persisted for hours without another complaint, while crashes of lightning cleaved the sky overhead and thunder roared in their ears. They paused only to creep around hostile wildlife or inspect the crumbling buildings they passed for any signs of a rogue Institute scientist.

At the wreckage of a crashed vertibird, they stumbled upon a corpse, a thin, sallow man, recently dead, his skin still intact save for the deep, blood-black gashes in his chest, unmistakably from a deathclaw.

"I recognize those robes," MacCready muttered, as Hancock nudged through the debris with his shotgun for any useful supplies. "He's from the Children of Atom."

"You told me about them once," River remembered, glancing off into the distance. "They must have some sort of gathering built up out here. It makes sense, with all the rads."

"They might know where our man is," Valentine ventured, though he sounded reluctant.

"Yeah, and they might try to turn us both into ghouls instead."

"There's only one way to find out," she reasoned. "Right?"

MacCready shrugged. "I've met some of the Children who were harmless, but . . . can't say I like taking our chances like this."

"That's all we've been doing since we stepped foot in the glowing sea. It's our only lead right now."

Hancock had been tugging at a scrap of metal hanging over the vertibird's cabin, and eventually managed to pry the debris loose. He steadied himself and peered in with interest, his eyes going wide before he immediately began backing away. "We need to go," he hissed urgently, already pushing River onward. "Now!"

The chilling roar of a deathclaw sounded behind them, and MacCready only just caught a glimpse of the large, pale egg nestled within the vertibird before he spotted the massive beast bounding for them in the distance. It was barreling through a deep pool of brackish, green water, a feral snarl ripping from its throat.

"Go, go!" MacCready shouted, keeping the beast suppressed with a few shots while River scrambled up the hill behind him, away from the crash site. Valentine stood his ground and landed three good shots into the deathclaw's shoulder, but the damage did little to slow the enraged animal.

It covered the ground between them with blinding speed and lunged for MacCready, knocking him off his feet. They both tumbled to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs, his head spinning as the beast loosed a deafening scream and swiped at his armor. He felt the blows slam him against the crumbling asphalt and cried out in terror, wedging his rifle between them.

"MacCready!" River's voice shredded around his name somewhere in the distance, he couldn't tell where from the ground. Valentine and Hancock laid into the deathclaw, but it was desperate after the threat to its nest, and MacCready could feel his armor start to creak and bend under its vicious onslaught. A few of its long talons snagged through a crack in the armor and sliced through the flesh of his shoulder, and he couldn't help another shout of pain.

There was a breathless moment where time seemed to slow. MacCready watched the deathclaw raise its arm for another strike, and he braced himself for impact, his breath like a stone in his throat, praying to a god he didn't believe in that the armor would hold. He heard Valentine bark a horrified, "Don't!", then a streak of silver filled his blurring vision, and the weight of the deathclaw suddenly lifted from his chest. He drew in a deep gulp of air and struggled to rise, his body reeling from the pain of his injuries.

"Shit!" Hancock growled from somewhere nearby, and from the panic in his voice MacCready realized how he had been freed.

He rolled up onto his knees and clenched his teeth against a wave of agony, still dizzy from being knocked against the pavement. River had thrown herself at the deathclaw, and together they had toppled back down the hill. The deathclaw had her pinned, its strikes clumsy from blood loss, but still strong enough to slash her armor and snap at her with its sharp, yellowed teeth. She angled her pistol between their bodies and fired two shots into its throat, sending its head reeling back with a gargled shriek of pain.

MacCready struggled to his feet. From the sudden weakness to his body, he knew his injuries would need to be dealt with, but all he could see was River on the ground, and the deathclaw on top of her, striking her over and over with its massive claws. "Get that thing off her!" he croaked, swaying back down to one knee.

Hancock took a running leap at the deathclaw from behind and latched onto its wounded shoulder, breaking its hold on River. The ghoul sank his blade into the side of the deathclaw's neck and yanked backward, carving open flesh and a spray of thick, dark blood. Weakened by its wounds, the beast thrashed in pain, sinking onto its side, and Valentine landed one last shot to its skull, rendering it finally still.

Valentine and Hancock immediately started dragging the immense corpse away, and MacCready joined them as quickly as he could. River was prone on the ground, unmoving, her armor splattered with grime and viscera, and MacCready swallowed back the taste of blood suddenly thick in his throat as he rushed to her side. "River? River, hey, talk to me." His hands were shaking inside of his armor, from his wounds or fear he couldn't tell. "Come on, Riv, get up."

"I - I'm -" Her voice faltered and scattered out, and she bit back a groan of pain as she finally stirred. "Hit my head on the fall. Just-just a little rattled, I think."

MacCready ducked his head, squeezing her hand and dragging in a slow breath to steady himself. "Can we move you?" he asked, barely hearing his own voice past the rushing of his heartbeat.

"Don't know," she answered with a waver of uncertainty. "Dizzy. Can hardly . . . breathe."

"Take a second, sweetheart," Valentine advised her, sounding relieved despite the worry to his expression. "And you," he said to MacCready, eyeing the damage to his armor. "How're you holding up?"

He waved the synth away, shaking his head. "I'll be fine."

When River's vision finally evened out, Hancock helped her sit up. Valentine removed her helmet just long enough to apply a few stimpaks and eventually she found the strength to stand. Her face was pale and damp with sweat, a twist of pain shadowing her expression, but she was on her feet and moving again.

MacCready managed to squeeze a stimpak of his own through an opening in his armor, and felt the worst of his wounds knitting back together, followed by a wave of relief.

"Come on," River said weakly, more to steel herself than the others. "Before the adrenaline wears off and I realize how banged up I really am."

Hancock and Valentine exchanged a worried look, but MacCready hurried on after her, placing a supportive hand at her back as she tackled the hill with her new injuries.

"You shouldn't have done that," he told her in a low voice.

She huffed out a shaky breath, gripping at her side, where blood was beginning to seep from the break in her armor. "I know. I'm - " A groan, and she swallowed back blood. "I'm sorry, baby. It's . . ." She wheezed out a cough, and he quickly shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Let's just get you someplace safe."

River leaned heavily on MacCready for support as they crested the top of the hill. Valentine and Hancock stepped up beside them, and they all stared down into the valley of a massive crater, where a smattering of ramshackle metal buildings had been constructed around a pool of radioactive water at the center. A well-worn pathway led down into the heart of the settlement, and a glow of rads that made River's Geiger counter take off like a ripper on her wrist.

"This must be the place," she muttered, still winded.

"Here's hoping they're the friendly sort," Valentine added doubtfully.

"Maybe havin' a ghoul around'll give ya a leg up."

River gave a nod and started down the path, moving considerably slower than before. MacCready felt his own wounds throb for attention, but gritted his teeth against the pain. As they approached the encampment, a woman stepped out from the building nearest to them. Her hair was a dark, wiry gray and hung wildly around her face, eyes sunken among dark bags and splotches of dirt that stained her skin. The robes she wore were nicer than those of the corpse they'd found earlier, and a gamma gun hung from the belt around her waist.

MacCready tightened the grip around his rifle, and he noticed Valentine subtly ready his pistol beside him.

"Stop right there, strangers," she cautioned them, in a softer voice than he would've expected. Her expression was stern, but not openly hostile. "You approach Atom's holy ground. Why?" She looked each of them up and down, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "State your purpose, or be divided in His light."

MacCready tracked movement among the surrounding buildings and spotted at least four other Children watching their conversation, armed with weapons similar to the woman's before them.

"We mean you no harm," River promised, and after a deep breath, she straightened her back to address the woman properly. "We were looking for a friend who might be somewhere nearby, but . . ." She paused to take another breath, this one thinner, alarmingly faint. "We got ambushed by a deathclaw. Barely managed to take it down before we made it here."

The woman's gaze softened somewhat after a look at River's wounds, and she nodded in understanding. "We've heard such a beast roaming nearby. A creature blessed by Atom's touch, though we try to keep our distance. We lost one of our own quite recently to its claws."

MacCready barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He had a few thoughts about the Children's particular brand of crazy, but now wasn't the time to share them.

"I'm sorry for your loss," River told her. "And . . . we were sorry to put down one of Atom's creatures. At least now you shouldn't have to worry about it harming your people."

The woman eyed Hancock with interest. "You've known Atom's touch," she accused him curiously.

"You could say that, yeah," he allowed.

"So who do you seek, strangers?" she asked, looking at each of them closely in turn. "Since you have helped us, in your way, I shall seek to help you in return."

"I'm looking for a man named Virgil."

A spark of recognition brightened the woman's dull eyes, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, we know this Virgil. What do you want with him?"

"I need information to find my son, and he's the only one who can help."

"Hmn." She seemed to consider River's answer for a moment. "I see. In truth, this Virgil has caused some concern. Some believe his presence to be an affront to Atom. Though he's come to trade with us on a few occasions, we have had little other contact with him. It was quite clear he wanted to be left alone. You can find him southwest of the crater, living in a cave." She swung her arm to point away from the camp, toward his location. "I would approach cautiously were I you. I feel he does not want visitors."

River let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, very, very much. You've been a wonderful help."

"May Atom guide you on your journey," she wished them with one last nod, and drifted away from them, back toward the pool in the center of the crater, where several of the other Children had gathered to pray.

"Let's get out of here," MacCready hissed between his teeth, and River nodded urgently in agreement. They climbed another, thinner path leading out of the crater, in the direction the woman had indicated. River seemed invigorated despite her injuries, after finally finding a lead toward Virgil's location.

"You said you knew their clothes," she said to MacCready, a new strength in her voice. "That you've met some of them before."

He shrugged, a cramped and uncomfortable gesture in power armor. "Not really. There were a few of 'em back in the Capital, even had their own church set up in this town called Megaton. After Leah disabled the bomb there, they weren't really hurting anyone, so the sheriff kinda just let them stay." He remembered waking up to the crazed ranting of Cromwell in the center of town whenever they stayed in Megaton for the night, stuffing his head under his pillow and trying to drown his voice out. "Guess some of them are okay, but I'd rather keep my distance."

"I don't like anybody who looks at me like that," Hancock muttered. "Like some atomic god kissed me on the forehead and turned me into gold. _I_ made me this way." He looked down at his own hands, as if admiring them. "They want to look like me, they're better off combin' old labs for a hit of the stuff I took. Work a hell of a lot faster than sittin' around in that dump."

"The whole world could turn ghoul and nobody would look like you, John," Valentine assured him dryly, and the ghoul cackled in appreciation.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say ya actually meant that."

"Never said it was a compliment," the synth shot back.

River gave a weak chuckle, comforted by the sound of their bickering. She favored her right leg, keeping a hand to the damaged armor over her side.

"Hang in there, all right?" MacCready tried to keep the worry out of his voice. "I'll patch you up soon as I can."

"I'll make it," she promised.

Valentine and Hancock took over combat for the last few threats they ran into: a small swarm of bloatflies and another radscorpion, this time, at least, on its own. They climbed their way up another slight incline and stumbled around through the darkening hillside, searching for any break in the darkened rock that made up most of the landscape around them.

"Think I found somethin'!" Valentine eventually called out, and MacCready helped River over to the opening of a cave, shrouded in dark shadows. "Don't see any mines inside, but we should still be careful."

River took a few tentative steps into the cave, and MacCready was right on her heels. Through the darkness, he could just make out a wooden gate, set into the round shape of the tunnel.

"We don't want to spook him," Valentine cautioned. "Sneaking in might give him the wrong impression."

Before either of the others could offer their suggestions, River lifted her hand and knocked three times against the gate, hard enough to send echoes of the sound ringing further down the cave. "Virgil!" she called, her voice straining from their earlier battles, slumping most of her weight against the wood for support. "My name is River Bautista, and I'm not here to hurt you. I'm hurt and exhausted, and looking for my son. I need your help. I understand you need to protect yourself, but please, I am begging you." And here her words turned faint with fatigue and desperation. "Please, _please_ , just hear me out."

There was a long, tense moment of silence, during which they all strained to listen for any movement deeper in the cave. A buzzer finally sounded somewhere nearby, and the gate opened with a mechanical whir.

"Thank you," River breathed, hurrying through the opening. They clung close to her side as they moved through the dark tunnel, turning a corner and coming face-to-face with two turrets aimed in their direction, live and ready to fire. A few resounding footsteps seemed to shake the earth beneath them, upsetting dust and dirt from the ceiling, and then the hulking shape of a super mutant stepped through the doorway to greet them.

"Hold it!" he rumbled in a deep, gravelly voice, a rifle trained on River. "Take it nice and slow, no sudden movements."

She raised her hands into the air, swaying dangerously on her feet.

"I know you're from the Institute," he went on in an almost crazed rush. "Where's Kellogg, huh? Trying to sneak up on me while you distract me? Well, it's not going to work!" His words rose to a roar, and River barely stood her ground against the force of them. "I'm not stupid, I knew they'd send him after me!"

"I promise you, out of all the dangers in the world, Kellogg will no longer be one of them." River pointed a thumb at the bag hanging from her back. "His memories were the only way I found you, and I had to dig them out of his brain to get them."

Virgil squinted at her through his glasses, the frame bent at an odd angle to accommodate the new size of his head. "What you say is impossible, but I . . . I believe you, somehow. If you're not from the Institute, how else would you have known about me?" His eyes landed on Hancock and Valentine, calculating, distrustful.

"Memories aren't the only thing we took," MacCready added, and turned to show the super mutant the pistol hanging in a holster at his hip, with the distinctive bull barrel the mercenary himself had modded onto it.

Virgil recognized the weapon with a grave nod. "Yes, I've seen that gun before. Half-expected to see it come through that gate and blow my head off any day now. I can hardly believe he's really dead. . ." He trailed off as if deep in thought before blinking back to the conversation at hand. "If that's true, then what do you want with me?"

"You're the only person to ever leave the Institute," River murmured, sagging now against the cave wall as her injuries weighed her down. MacCready slung one of her arms over his shoulder to keep her upright. "I need any information you've got that can help me get in."

"Get . . . in?" Virgil gave a bark of cynical laughter. "Forgive me for laughing, but . . . god in heaven, why would you ever want to get _in_ to the Institute?"

"Remember when I said I'm looking for my son?" she reminded him in a tired voice.

He shook his head. "I suppose that would have to be it, wouldn't it? The only thing that'd make someone crazy enough to actually try to. . . Never mind how nearly _impossible_ that is, even if you were to succeed it'd almost certainly end in your immediate death." With a deep sigh, Virgil straightened his glasses and regarded her closely. "I can tell from your voice that you actually mean to do it." He shrugged. "You wanna get yourself killed, that's your problem - but I'm telling you now, that's what's going to happen. I can help you get in there, but I want something in return."

River went quiet, listening dutifully as he continued, "Before I had to escape, I was working on a serum that would serve as a cure for my . . . my condition. I wasn't able to bring it with me. It's still in my lab, and . . . Well, look at me. I need it. I need you to find it for me, if you manage to actually get inside. What do you say?"

She lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. They weren't exactly in any position to negotiate. "You help me, I'll help you."

"All right. All right!" Virgil clapped his hands together, a renewed energy to his movements. "Let's talk details."

"If you don't mind, now that I know we're not gonna kill each other, I'm gonna patch myself up while you talk," River interrupted, pulling the helmet from her head.

Virgil stilled momentarily at the sight of her, startled by her appearance, but quickly nodded and turned for a table across the room. "I have some radiation meds you can have. Tried to use them to slow the mutation, but they're no good to me now."

Now that they were temporarily safe from the rads, River climbed out of her armor with a sigh of relief. Her legs nearly crumpled beneath her weight, and Valentine eased her down into a chair Virgil carried over for her. Her leathers were soaking through with blood where the deathclaw had struck her, and she clutched at a particularly nasty-looking wound in her side. She seemed to be having trouble keeping her head up, her body limp with weariness, and a slur in her speech spoke to a possible concussion from the impact of her fall.

MacCready quickly left his own armor standing out by the turrets and hurried back to River's side, taking over from Valentine as he tried to peel her coat off and get to her wounds. He pressed a hand to River's cheek and bit back a curse at the cold sweat he felt there.

She blinked open tired eyes at him and smiled faintly. "You're okay," she murmured.

"I'll be fine," he said again, easier to believe when River was alive and breathing in his arms.

Valentine touched her shoulder in warning, and quickly applied a stimpak toward the base of her neck. She breathed a low sob of relief.

"You knocked your head pretty good out there," the synth rumbled in disapproval. "Wouldn't be surprised if you've got a concussion."

She voiced another soft, pained noise that MacCready felt like a wound in his chest, and barely managed to lift her head back up. "Not s'posed to sleep, right? 'f I'm concussed." She turned her gaze to Virgil and gestured for him to keep speaking. "Please, I'm listening."

He raised a brow, obviously doubtful, but cleared his throat and went on. "First thing's first: I assume you know how synths get in and out of the Institute?"

She hummed low in her throat, shifting to let MacCready tug the leather coat down her arms. "Teleportation, right?"

"You've done your homework," he replied approvingly.

"If 'tearin' open Kellogg's brains' could be called homework," Hancock added with relish.

Virgil pressed on, ignoring him. "It's commonly referred to as the Molecular Relay. I don't fully understand all the science behind it, but I know it works. Dematerializes you in one place, rematerializes you in another. I'm sure it sounds crazy, but it's a reality." He pinned her with an earnest stare. "The Relay is the _only_ way in and out of the Institute. You understand? The only one. And you're going to have to use it."

MacCready listened closely while he applied another stimpak to River's side, fighting back a wave of sudden dread at the thought of River's body dematerializing anywhere.

"Now, have you ever seen an Institute courser?" Virgil asked of River.

She blinked slowly, thinking for a moment. "No. Not in real life, anyways. In Kellogg's memories, I saw one."

MacCready remembered the ominous-looking man in dark shades who had appeared to take Shaun away, disappearing into those flashes of blinding blue light that teleported them back to the Institute.

"Coursers are Institute synths," he explained, "designed for one purpose: they're hunters. Operations go wrong, a synth goes missing, and a courser is dispatched. They're very good at what they do, and you're going to have to kill one."

"Kill a killing machine?" Valentine repeated skeptically.

"You've already done so once," Virgil reminded them, with a pointed look at MacCready's pistol. "You want to get into the Institute, remember? That's your ticket in. Every courser has special hardware that gives them a direct connection to the relay in the Institute. It's embedded in a chip in their heads. You need that chip, but to get it, you'll have to find one of them.

"Now, I don't know exactly where you can find a courser. They haven't sent any after me, not yet, anyway, and sitting here waiting doesn't seem like the best plan, so you're going to have to hunt one down. I can tell you where to start, and give you some help finding one, but you'll have to do the dirty work."

River nodded sluggishly, a bit of color finally returning to her skin. "Okay," she agreed. "Tell me what I need to do."

He gestured at her Pip-Boy, and, after a moment of hesitation, River handed it over. He flipped through to her map, with some difficulty given his larger fingers, and entered in the coordinates for a location. "The primary insertion point for Coursers is in the ruins of CIT, directly above the Institute, so you'll want to head there."

"You mean to tell me the Institute has been underneath CIT this whole damn time?" Valentine demanded, voice flat with disbelief.

Virgil looked the synth over searchingly. "You're clearly Institute tech, and yet you don't remember? Must have wiped your memories, if they dumped you. . . Curious that they'd let you leave. . ." He seemed almost fascinated, but turned eventually back to River. "Anyway, the relay causes some pretty heavy interference all across the EM spectrum. You've got a radio on this thing, so whenever you get to the ruins, you're gonna want to tune it to the lower end of the band and listen in. You'll be able to hear the interference, and follow that to a courser. Then, you just have to . . . not get killed.

"After that, you'll need to find someone to decode that chip and build your relay. If you somehow manage to pull that all off, you've got your way into the Institute. I can draw up a few plans for you. It'll take me longer than it would have, before . . . Well, it'll take me a while, but you can rest up until I've finished. If the Institute hasn't found me out here yet, I can only assume it's still safe for now."

"Thank you, Virgil," River sighed, and MacCready looked up to see tears starting to roll down her face. She smiled, and wiped them away with the heel of her hand.

The mutant tilted his head at her, seemingly lost for words. "I . . . I really do hope you find what you're looking for," he said simply, and trudged across the cave to a tattered desk, where he eased into a seat that creaked in protest under his weight, effectively giving them all the privacy he could afford in the cramped space.

MacCready felt River's fingers push back his hair, and she murmured softly in concern. "Are you hurt?"

"Not too bad, thanks to you."

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, wincing when he stretched a length of gauze over the gash in her side. "I know that was stupid, I just - saw you on the ground, and I couldn't . . ."

"I know, angel." He kissed her shaking hands, and she relaxed against him, taking as much comfort from the contact as he did.

Valentine hovered nearby, a few packs of rad-away in his hands. "I know you're tired, sweetheart, but you should take some of this, just to be safe. You both should."

River glared blearily at the medicine, but rolled up her sleeve without any further complaint. The synth hung the packet of dark fluid from a screw in River's armor and knelt down at her side, taking her arm very carefully into his hands.

"Steady touch," he joked, with a wry twist of a smile. "One of the few times bein' a synth actually comes in handy."

"And trips into the glowing sea."

"Job like mine takes you all sorts of places," he said easily. He hunted after a vein under her pale skin, and MacCready reached out to brush her hair back, distract her from Valentine as he worked.

"I know we still got a lot of work ahead of us," he muttered, looking down at their hands as she laced their fingers together. "But we found what we came for, right? Been lucky so far. No reason it shouldn't hold up."

River smiled, the expression wavering only slightly when Valentine slid the needle into her skin. The thumb of her free hand traced light as a breath over his jaw, too exhausted for anything more.

"Come on, kid," Valentine said gently, waving another pack of rad-away at him. "Last time I checked, you were human, too."

"Yeah, yeah." MacCready snorted and eased himself reluctantly back against the cave wall, grimacing when his injured body throbbed in protest. He offered his arm to Valentine and tried not to watch him work, leaning his head on River's knee. Her fingers wound into his hair, tracing soothing shapes against his scalp.

Hancock leaned against a nearby table and crossed his arms over his chest, angling his hat back with the tip of his finger. "How ya feelin'?" he asked River.

MacCready heard her sigh above him. "Like I got mauled by a deathclaw," she laughed wearily.

"Need a little pick-me-up?" he offered, and patted one of his pockets with a meaningful look.

Valentine rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. MacCready just picked up the words "walking pharmacy" among his grumbling.

River waved him away with a grateful smile. "Thanks for the offer, but no need. I didn't take any bullets this time, so I think I'll survive."

"This time?" Valentine repeated with a frown. "How many times have you been shot already?"

"A couple, I guess." She blinked. "Doesn't everybody get shot out here?"

Valentine let out a bark of laughter. "You're hangin' around with MacCready too much. He probably gets shot at more than normal."

He couldn't help a smirk. "She clearly finds enough trouble all on her own, thanks."

"Brat," she mumbled, and tugged affectionately at his ear. "It's usually my fault anyways. I'm lucky to have him around to dig 'em out of me."

Hancock chuckled to himself. "Now if that ain't wasteland romance."

"Shut up," MacCready groaned, laughing, his breath cutting short when it hurt behind his bruised ribs. River's smile faltered at the sound, and she reached for him, ignoring the ache in her body and the IV tugging at her arm. He caught the glisten of tears in her eyes as she struggled to sit up, her fingers pale and trembling.

"You shouldn't - " he started, but she was already pushing herself from the chair, landing hard on her knees and into his arms. He gathered her to his chest, feeling her ease against him and breathe a sigh of contentment. His wounds ached beneath her weight, muscles screaming with exhaustion, but it felt too nice to have her close again.

Valentine made a low attempt at protest until he noticed the relief in her expression. He finished setting the IV in MacCready's arm without a word and got to his feet, swiping the dust from his knees.

MacCready gave him a nod of thanks, and the synth tapped the brim of his hat in response before retreating to join Hancock across the cave.

"Am I hurting you?" River asked.

"No." He pressed his lips to her hair, reaching over her shoulder to straighten the line of her IV. "Stay here. It's okay." He traced his fingers down her spine, and she stretched into his touch, like a cat sprawling out in the sun. 

"You've been so strong," she whispered, gripping at his coat, her voice cracking with tears. "Thank you."

"Kills me when you do that," he admitted under his breath, and caught a tear with the pad of his thumb. "I told you I'd look out for you."

River glanced up at him. "You did. " Her gaze fell to his mouth, and then she leaned closer to kiss him, curling an arm around his neck. He felt warm tears slide down over his fingers and gentled his touch, dipping his head to kiss the tears from her cheeks. "I believe you," she breathed. "I love you." And he would probably never tire of hearing it.

"Love you, too." MacCready smirked and kissed her softly, felt her sigh and smile under his mouth, and the beat of the pulse at her throat, thrumming like a constant beneath his fingertips. "Always."

She was fast asleep by the time he pulled the rad-away from her arm, hopefully too tired for nightmares, only stirring for a moment before settling again. He shifted her weight in his lap and wrapped the small puncture wound in her arm as best he could. Had a hell of a time removing his own, but he didn't want to wake River or bother the others. Hancock was snoozing on the ground and Valentine had long since fallen into a pensive silence, chainsmoking cigarettes that burned mostly to ash in his fingers. From the sound of pen on paper, Virgil was still scribbling away at his plans nearby.

Eventually MacCready managed to pull the IV from his own arm and press his thumb over the wound until it stopped bleeding. Valentine shot him a questioning look from across the cave, but he shook his head, waving him away. He wrapped his arms around River and leaned his head back against hard rock, eyes drifting closed until he lacked the strength to open them again.   

The glowing sea stained his dreams sickly green, but through the haze of rads and rust, he saw only River. She anchored his wayward dreams, drew them back to her warmth when they wandered off toward darkness - that endless pit of grief and pain where he'd fallen and felt, so many times before, that he belonged.

Now, he dreamt of River. And when he dreamt of darkness, she always drew him back.

* * *

Night pitched the glowing sea into an inky darkness, radiation fog blotting the stars from the sky. River had never felt such a deep and heavy hopelessness, thick like smoke in her lungs. Through the hazy globe of her hazmat helmet, she could barely make out any shapes among the darkness, only the howl of restless winds around her and the blistering cold that chilled her sore, aching bones. She'd felt briefly claustrophobic in the cramped, rocky cave, leaving MacCready to his well-earned rest and escaping for a little air - but out here in the wastes, she felt only infinitesimal.

Crunching footsteps sounded behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Nick Valentine stroll out from the cave entrance. Together they stared out into the night, and the wind sang a little less eerie with a friend at her side.

" _Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing_. . ." Nick trailed off, his words dying to the howling wind.

 _Doubting_ , River remembered abruptly, and then the rest of the line came, reemerging from the depths of her pre-war memories, _dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before._

"Come on, sweetheart. You should rest." He grabbed her gently by the hand and nodded back toward the cave. "Dreams to dream."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please forgive me for the long break between updates - I let this glowing sea chapter intimidate me for way too long! Self-doubt and rewrites and a holiday with the family set me back more than I would've liked. Thank you as always for reading, it means the world to me!


	24. Hearth and Home

The wind howled a constant, eerie song outside the gate, hollow and haunting at the back of River's thoughts as she gathered her things. She wasn't the least bit eager to head back into the wastes, but she could hardly stand the sound of it any longer. She laced her boots quickly, fingers clumsy with cold, bleary-eyed and still stiff from her healing wounds, and their night on the hard cave floor really hadn't done any wonders for her recovery.

Beside her, MacCready was fighting sleep in his seat. She put a hand to his shoulder and his head jerked back up, blinking tired eyes at her. "Y'okay?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

River straightened the lapels of his coat and nodded, trying for a smile, but a knot of guilt twisted in her stomach at the dark shadows under his eyes. "We're almost out of this," she promised quietly. "Just a little longer, _cariño_."

"I'm right behind you." He reached over for her hand, pressing her fingers into his palm, and even here in the middle of hell on earth, facing another daunting task somehow more difficult and dangerous than the last, his voice was unmistakably determined. There was no expectation there, no resentment nor blame for getting them into this nightmare, none of the loathing she self-inflicted when the search for her son put their lives in danger again - just that familiar look on his face that promised a lifetime, today and tomorrow and the rest of their days all in the blue of his eyes.

With heavy footsteps that made the ground tremble beneath their feet, Virgil climbed up from the alcove that functioned as his bedroom. He set a folder of papers down on the desk in front of River and tapped it with a large, green finger. "Those are all the plans you'll need to build yourself a relay. I've reread them four times now, everything is accurate. If you somehow manage to put it all together, it should work as intended."

"Should work?" Hancock pressed, a note of doubt heavy in his voice. "If we're gonna be sendin' our girl through this thing, _should work_ ain't exactly gonna cut it."

The mutant speared him with an earnest stare. "Then I'd make sure to follow every word to the letter. That relay is your only way in. And I need you to make it back just as badly as you do."

River flipped through the plans before tucking the folder safely into a pocket of her bag. Her fingers brushed past it to the chipped wood of a carved toy soldier, and then cool plastic, a battered holotape with neat block letters inked down the side.

After the trouble they'd gone through to get here, she wanted to leave on something thoughtful or maybe even hopeful, but all she could think about were the miles and miles of irradiated waste left to walk, and it didn't leave her in a particularly hopeful place. She straightened her shoulders and held her hand out toward the mutant nonetheless. "Thank you for everything, Virgil. I won't forget what I owe you."

"Nor will I." Virgil very gingerly shook her hand with a few of his massive fingers, then followed them to the mouth of the cave as they prepared for the journey home. River dosed out rad-x for herself and MacCready and they shared a can of water to wash it down. He was just stuffing his hat into his bag when she grabbed him by the coat and tugged him into a fervent kiss, very much aware of the others watching nearby, but unwilling to let the chance slip through her fingers before they wandered back out into the glowing sea.

"Get me home safe," she murmured, smiling at the knowing heat to his gaze. "I've missed you."

"Plannin' on it," he croaked in agreement. His thumb brushed the curve of her cheekbone, eyes soft on the shape of her mouth before he straightened and cleared his throat, glancing up at the others watching them in curiosity and just catching the devilish smirk on Hancock's face.

When they drew apart, MacCready slung her bag over his shoulder while she opened her suit of power armor. The padding inside was cold and stained in streaks of dry blood that she hadn't been able to wipe clean, and she steeled herself with a deep breath before climbing in. Once MacCready was similarly suited and they'd readied their weapons, River shouldered open the battered wooden gate and stepped out into the blinding light of day. Hancock hissed a complaint and threw an arm up to shield his eyes, and even through the visor of her helmet, River found herself blinking in discomfort after so many hours in the dim cave.

Virgil closed the gate behind them with an ominous creak, and the four of them were adrift once more in the glowing sea, shadowed under churning storm clouds that shimmered green across the sky.

River tightened the grip on her rifle, turning her face to the raging, dust-scattered winds. She tried to block out the aches and pains that lingered in her body, the tick of her Geiger counter and deafening bolts of thunder that chased each arc of lightning. Among the many doubts that plagued her after finding Virgil, it was almost a relief to focus solely on survival for a time. They'd fought their way into the glowing sea, and they would fight their way back out.

"Let's go." She turned and forced a smile the others couldn't see, if only to prove she still could. "We're finally another step closer. Wasteland's not slowing me down now."

Hancock grinned, fingers twitching around the shotgun in his hands. "That's more like it," he approved with a harsh laugh. "Little General out to give 'em hell."

She rolled her eyes but found herself laughing, eased by his confidence. The ghoul had been singing her praises since they left his town with never an ounce of doubt to his voice, and she knew he was a charmer at heart, but having the mayor of Goodneighbor so vocally in her corner was a welcome boon in a rather unwelcoming wasteland. Besides, she had a feeling she would only need more assistance in the time to come.

"So any ideas who can decode something like a courser chip?" she asked of the others. "If the Institute scientist couldn't do it, I really don't know who to turn to."

"There aren't many people in the Commonwealth who'd be willing to give it a try, and most of them are currently present," Nick agreed. "Amari helped us out of a pinch before; it's a long shot, but she might have some insight."

"If not, I hear she's got a couple friends who could help us out," Hancock added with pointed inflection. "I'm sure they'd be interested to meet someone who got their hands on a key into the Institute."

Nick made a thoughtful, noncommittal noise. "Maybe. Think it's worth checking in with the good doctor first either way."

"What are you guys talking about?"

"When Virgil was talkin' about coursers, sayin' they chase down runaway synths - we're not just talkin' a couple synths who slipped their chains and got lucky. Somebody's been helpin' 'em escape from the outside," Hancock explained.

"I thought everybody was afraid of synths."

"Most people are," Nick confirmed, his voice abruptly flat, almost tired. "The Railroad isn't."

"The Railroad?" River repeated, just as MacCready huffed an annoyed " _Oh_ ," of understanding.

"They're shady folk, like to keep to themselves and stay off the Institute's radar," Hancock went on. "But they've been gettin' away with it right under their nose. If anybody knows courser tech, it's them."

River turned to MacCready, reading hesitance in his silence. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "Only know what I've heard in rumors, but nobody does anything for free out here."

"He's right," Nick chimed in. "They've obviously got a vested interest in getting somebody behind Institute lines."

"No tellin' what they'd do for the chance," Hancock finished ominously.

River understood that kind of desperation. "I see," she replied, more to herself than anyone else. She raised her voice to ask, "Any idea where I can find them?"

"Amari will know. From what I understand, her talents make her something of a vital resource for the Railroad."

"Then back to Goodneighbor it is," River answered determinedly.

"'Bout damn time. Can't wait to get back home." Hancock grinned. "Even if MacCready's too good to hang around in my town anymore."

He laughed. "You can try to buy me back if you miss me so much," he offered, a smirk in his voice.

"Not enough caps in the world," River declared in a clipped tone, lifting her chin defiantly.

"Damn, listen to you," Hancock observed, eyeing her in curiosity and amusement. "Like you'd snap me in half for tryin' to take him away from ya."

"It's great, right?" MacCready agreed in a dreamy voice, and River laughed as the ghoul chuckled to himself.

"It's somethin' else. . ." Hancock trailed off vaguely, and MacCready was hard to read through all the armor, but the line of his shoulders seemed almost _smug,_ arrogant at her obvious affection for him.

River bit her lip, her cheeks growing warm as she smiled. _You just keep finding new ways to be endearing, don't you?_

"I will take the free room and drinks, though."

"Yeah, you would," Hancock shot back with a laugh. "We make it back in one piece I guess you've earned it."

Nick rolled his eyes at the sound of their bickering, but River was grateful for the pleasant distraction as they wound their way back through the glowing sea. They were careful to retrace their steps as closely as possible, hoping to ride the path they'd cleared on their first trip through, and they managed to avoid anything more troublesome than a few more radscorpions and stingwings that ambushed them along the way. The fatigue of a healing body proved far more limiting an obstacle as it grew more and more difficult to keep pace with the others, the power armor feeling heavier around her by the second. She protested when MacCready suggested they stop for a break, but once he raised his concerns to Nick and Hancock, they refused to take another step until she'd rested.

"That's playing dirty," she accused him as he ushered her out of the rads, into the temporary shelter of an abandoned office building.

"I'll make it up to you later," he offered under his breath, reaching up to help her remove her helmet. "Once you're safe."

The ruined office smelled of sulfur and standing water, but the walls were solid enough to keep out the wind and rads while they rested. River dropped gratefully out of her armor, stretching her muscles with a deep sigh of relief. She cleared off a nearby desk and pushed herself up onto it, patting the space beside her with an inviting smile.

MacCready left his armor by the door and joined her, accepting the can of water she offered. As they huddled together for warmth, Hancock popped a pill from the tin in his pocket and kicked his boots up across the room, setting back to his whittling, and Nick took a screwdriver to the joints of his metallic hand, adjusting and giving his fingers the occasional experimental flex.

MacCready fished the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held it out to her, waiting until she'd clamped the filter between her lips to flip his lighter open with a flick of his thumb. River cupped her palms to steady the flame as he lit it, trying to ignore his hands and how she dreamt of them last night, gripping at her hips and thighs, digging in just deep enough to hurt.

A curl of heat flickered down her spine, and she took a few deep drags that burned in her throat before passing him the cigarette. His fingers brushed warm and rough over hers and she bit at her lip, stuffing her hands hastily into her pockets.

MacCready lifted a brow at her, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. "You gonna make me ask?"

River shook her head and cast her gaze elsewhere. She wanted to taste the smoke in his mouth, wanted his teeth in her skin and the warm, hard feel of his body, pressing her down into the desk beneath them -

"Better if you don't," she croaked softly instead.

His eyes narrowed, and he read her expression more intently, brushing a thumb over the warm flush to her cheeks. There was a twitch of recognition to his brows, and then he smirked, dropping his thumb to trace the curve of her lip.

"Miss you, too," he rumbled knowingly, his voice a low, tempting rumble.

Her lips dipped into a pout, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb. "I'm not so good at patient anymore."

He laughed, smoke trailing from his smile as he held the cigarette out, setting the filter between her lips. "Yeah, I'm spoiled, too." He was so close she could feel his warmth, and it would have taken no effort at all to close the small distance between them and kiss that devilish smirk from his mouth. It took far more effort not to.

He stared a moment longer at her lips around the filter before he closed his eyes and leaned back, drawing in a deep breath through his nose.

River finished off the last of the cigarette and stamped it out beneath her boot, rubbing the cold from her arms. MacCready shrugged out of his coat without a second thought, slinging it easily over her shoulders, and she ducked her face against the faded, familiar material with a smile. She was nearing two hundred and fifty, and MacCready could still make her blush with the smallest gesture, always so mindful of her behind the surly cover of his scowl. She risked a glance up at him through her lashes and found his eyes on her again, tracing her features before he lost them to her armor again.

"You're not making this any easier, looking at me like that," she scolded him.

"Yeah?" MacCready chuckled, easy and arrogant and far too tempting. "You definitely don't want to know what I'm thinking, then."

River tried for a scowl; from the curve to his smirk, he wasn't buying it. "You're getting too good at this," she complained.

His grin widened. "Proud Mary's a sore loser. Should've seen that one coming."

The laughter felt good in her throat, even at her own expense, freeing and faint as she leaned her head against his shoulder and he lit up another cigarette. "And very impatient," she added, curling her arm through his.

"Rest up, then, beautiful. I want to get you home."

They shared one last cigarette in fond silence, fingers laced together between them, while River tried to picture _home_ and saw only MacCready instead.

* * *

The sun had long since dipped beyond the horizon by the time they reached the marina. River abandoned her armor at the very edges of the property, leaning heavily on Nick for support as he helped her across the parking lot. The dark metal door opened before they reached it and Phyllis stood in the doorway, her rifle in hand.

"You made it back," she noted in surprise, standing aside to let them in. "You hurt?"

"No," River assured her with a grateful, tired smile. "We're just exhausted. It's been a long day." When Phyllis gestured for her to sit, she settled onto a beaten yellow couch and stretched her sore legs beside the crackling fire in a pit nearby with a sigh of contentment. "We didn't wake you, did we?"

The older woman studied her for a moment, brows furrowed over dark eyes as she frowned. "No, I'd been . . . waitin' up past couple of nights, in case you all came back through."

"Thank you," River said, hiding her surprise. "I really appreciate it."

"Use the fire if you need it," Phyllis offered, her eyes flicking awkwardly from face to face and settling finally back on River. "Glad you're still alive." She retreated back up the stairs, leaving them alone around the fire.

River had just enough food left to scrape together a quick stew, unremarkable but filling, greatly improved once Hancock fished a few beers from his bag and passed them over. Warm and well-fed and teetering on tipsy, with the worst of the danger temporarily behind them,  River finally felt calm again for the first time in a few very long days.

MacCready felt her ease against his side and glanced down at the sleepy contentment on her face. "You fallin' asleep on me?"

She shook her head. "No, but I'm close."

"Can't believe you're still standing," Hancock marveled with a chuckle, stretching to his feet. "Gonna sleep like the dead tonight, and I didn't have to haul two tons of metal through the glowing sea."

"Sure you're all right, doll?" Nick asked one last time as they stepped back out into the cool night air.

"Good night's sleep and I'll be good as new," she promised, squeezing his arm gratefully. She nodded toward the remains of a small diner that still stood at the edge of the center dock, its windows long blown out, but structure still mostly intact. "Think I'll sleep somewhere a little more open tonight. It's gonna take me a few days to get over being stuck in that cave for a night."

"'Course," the synth agreed easily enough, and if there was any skepticism to the word, he achieved it with enviable subtlety. He patted her hand and smiled, turning for the boathouse. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

River stepped into the diner long enough to set her things down and grab a towel from her bag, draping it over her shoulder. "I'm filthy," she explained defensively at his questioning look. "And we're on a river. Might as well take the chance while I have it."

He shook his head, lips tugging toward a smile as he followed her to the end of the dock, lighting himself a cigarette. "Little late, isn't it?"

She shrugged, already halfway through the buttons of her shirt. "I'll be quick, I just can't be this gross anymore." She peeled the tattered clothes from her body, leaving them in a pile on the dock and savoring the clear, cool breeze that drifted lazily over the night-darkened marina, crisp and refreshing on her skin after days in the glowing sea. She felt his eyes on her as she knelt down, resting a moment on the balls of her feet before slipping into the river in one fluid motion. The cold water chilled her immediately to the bone, and after lingering in the weightless silence a moment longer, she resurfaced with a soft gasp, shivering beneath the water. "It's not so bad," she said, barely keeping the waver from her voice.

MacCready watched her from where he leaned against the diner, amused and unconvinced, neglecting the cigarette in his fingers.

"Not gonna join me?" she teased him, enjoying the rapt focus to his attention.

He crossed his arms, regarding her from under heavy lids, the shadow of a smirk curling his lips. "It's gotta be freezing in there."

River waded back over to the dock and rested her chin on her arms, smiling temptingly up at him. "I'll keep you warm," she promised. Her voice was soft and breathy from the cold, and he seemed to weaken to the sound, removing his cap with a sigh and dropping it beside her clothes. Smoke trailed from the cigarette between his lips as he undressed, kicking his clothing and boots aside and padding to the end of the dock. He took one last drag of smoke and left it burning on the dampened wood before dropping into the water beside her.

He caught her easily in his arms and buried a groan at her throat, shuddering against her. His hands roamed greedily over her skin, seeking heat as he adjusted to the cold, and she pressed just as eager into his touch. He kissed her and she tasted smoke on his tongue, the bitter of beer, and when he caught her lip between his teeth, her eyelids fluttered shut. She wound a leg around his waist and felt him slip against her beneath the water, hard and wanting, urging a groan from deep in his chest.

River trailed her fingers down his stomach, knuckles brushing tensing muscle until she curled a fist around his cock and felt him throb against her palm. His hips bucked once into her hold, frantic, instinctive, then he forced himself still with a wounded noise. She dragged her grip slowly up the hard length of his cock, breathing loving whispers between kisses down his jaw.

MacCready stiffened and shook in turns as she teased him, gripping rough hands at her hips. He dropped his mouth to her pulse point, sucking bruises, panting desperate moans against her wet skin. He shifted a knee between her legs, nudging at her thighs until she parted for his touch, and his fingers stroked the slickening folds of her sex.

"You're so _warm_ ," he groaned and chuckled under his breath, husky with want, fingers parting and dipping into wet heat. Her head dropped back and she whimpered into her teeth, struggling to stay quiet. He hissed when her nails edged into his shoulder, her grip around his cock faltering at the crook of his fingers inside of her. His thumb rolled clumsy passes over her clit, building at sharp, thrumming pleasure as he pushed his fingers deeper.

"Baby," she panted under his mouth, her voice cracked and frantic. Her fist tightened around him, pumping faster, and he growled a curse, ducking his head and biting down at her shoulder to stop himself from uttering more. She tensed and writhed with pleasure, and if not for his arm anchored tight around her, she might have floated off down the river in her frenzy.

"C'mon, River," he urged her in a rough voice, lifting her higher in his arm so his mouth could latch onto her breasts, tongue curling around a taut nipple and making her whine. His fingers filled her urgently, thumb firm and unrelenting at her clit. "Want to see you come, beautiful." His breath hitched and spilled warm over her skin, lips tender down her working throat, and at the sharp, sudden sting of his teeth, she tensed up and finally unraveled.

"Fuck." He strangled out a grunt when she clenched around his fingers, the moan like a song in her throat, high and wild. Panting and coiling through the rush of her orgasm, she thumbed the head of his cock, squeezing slender fingers around him, thick and pulsing in her grip, then coming in warm, messy streaks across her thighs. She murmured breathless praise as he groaned and fucked into her fist, thrusting out the last few waves of bliss before falling still at last, his head slumping heavily against her shoulder.

"Shit, I needed that," she slurred, and they laughed together, airy with relief. Drowsy and succumbing rapidly to the cold, they cleaned each other with gentle, shivering hands, washed away blood and grime and every last touch of the glowing sea, until his skin was clean and damp under her mouth, her tongue over the pulse in his throat, lapping at heartbeats.

They retreated hastily back to the diner, and she had barely tugged one of his shirts over her head and curled up in their sleeping bag before she was nodding off. MacCready pulled on a pair of pants and eyed the tangled mass of her hair, splayed out over the floor and still wet from the river. He dug around for the brush in her bag and she stirred when he started working it gingerly through the ends of her hair, teasing knots from the thin white strands. His fingers were deft and heartbreakingly gentle, and she opened her eyes to the thoughtful look on his face as he handled her with that same tender reverence that made her feel whole again.

MacCready set the brush down and ran his hand through her hair, checking over his work. His fingers slipped easily through the smooth strands, rough where she was soft, and she struggled to remember a more perfect touch ever gracing her skin.

River brought his hand to her lips, kissing his palm, leaning into him when he cradled the side of her face. "Come to bed, RJ."

He smiled then, and she recognized the relief in his features, the ache that so closely echoed her own, the way he always had and always would. His fingers trembled at her lips, and he pressed one last kiss there before crawling in beside her. He was warm and utterly familiar when he wrapped his arms around her, like waves at her shore, his head on her shoulder, and in the heat between his heartbeat and his hold, she'd found a home again.

* * *

"Hey, you guys are pre-war," Hancock said conversationally to Nick and River as they approached the familiar pink neon Goodneighbor lights, mutant blood still drying on the soles of their boots. "How's that song go again? 'My Kind of Town?'"

"You're probably the only person in the world who sees Goodneighbor and thinks Sinatra," Nick noted with a wry laugh.

"You tellin' me Irma don't make you hear old love songs in that clockwork heart of yours?"

A reluctant smile curved at the synth's lips. "Has to be somethin' here worth coming back to."

"You're breakin' my heart, Nicky." Hancock held the gate open for them with a flourish, and River laughed as she strolled past him into Goodneighbor, out of her armor and back in her element at last. The smell of piss and garbage had never seemed so appealing before their most recent adventure, but after the glowing sea, Goodneighbor was a welcome sight.

"Home sweet home," Hancock sighed fondly beside her, surveying his town with love in his eyes. "I better go check in with Fahrenheit. Let her know the mayor didn't bite the dust out there."

"Thank you, seriously," River told him one last time. "I don't know how I could ever make it up to you."

"Don't mention it." The ghoul reached out to shake her hand with an eager smile. "And your work ain't over yet. I'm here to help as long as ya need me. Professional curiosity, at this point," he reasoned at the look she gave him. "You want me there when ya take down that courser, ya know where to find me." His voice turned teasing. "Though I know how greedy you are about your favorite merc, so I get it if three's a crowd."

MacCready rolled his eyes as River tried not to smile, blushing pink, and the ghoul tipped his cap with a devious laugh, ducking past two of his guards into the state house.

"It's still light enough to go see Amari, if you're ready," Nick offered gently. "I know you got to leave the armor behind, but you're probably still exhausted."

"Nothing I can't handle," River promised, sounding more certain than she felt. MacCready's hand brushed hers, and she slotted their fingers together, finding strength in the easy way he held her back. "Somehow I don't think she'll be too pleased to see us."

"To be fair, beautiful dames like you are usually trouble," he chuckled. "And we did show up with a dead man's brains last time. Can't blame a smart woman for bein' cautious."

"We saw enough of Kellogg's memories for a lifetime," she agreed in a faint voice. "Hopefully after this, I won't need to bother her again."

"You're doing right, lookin' for your son," Nick assured her earnestly. "Either she can help us or she can't. Can't be any harm in asking."

They stepped into the dim warmth of the Den, static-fuzzy jazz filtering from a jukebox in the lounge. Nick pulled the hat from his head and led them into the next room, where Irma was enjoying a cigar and a glass of scotch.

"Well, well," the blonde woman sang at the sight of them. "Another promise kept, it seems."

"I know better than to break any more of those, doll," Nick replied, a familiar and very human warmth to his voice.

"Suppose I ought to thank you, then, for looking out for him," Irma said with a charming smile in River's direction. "I can't stop him from leaving, but it's nice to know someone's there to bring him back. Amari's downstairs, if you're looking for her. I'll be here when you manage to take a moment for yourself for once," she teased Nick.

The synth pressed a quick kiss to Irma's cheek on his way toward the stairs, and the jazz faded slowly behind them as they descended into Dr. Amari's lab.

"I thought I heard your voice up there, Detective Valentine," the doctor greeted him from her desk, jotting down a few last words in her notes before looking up at them. "And River, you've made it back as well, I see. Were you able to find your scientist?"

River nodded, "We did, actually. He gave us almost everything we need to make it into the Institute."

A note of wariness colored her tone. "I assume the 'almost' is where I come in."

"I'm sorry to ask for your help again. I know what we're doing is dangerous."

"To say the least," she interrupted indignantly.

"We're gonna need someone who knows their way around courser tech," Nick interjected. "It's the only way anybody's getting into the Institute, and I know there are some folks in the area who might be very interested in helping us out."

Dr. Amari narrowed knowing eyes at the detective. "I have . . . certain contacts," she allowed reluctantly, her shoulders stiff at even that small admission. "I can try to reach out, whenever I see them next, but I'm afraid I won't be able to help you find them directly."

"Well, I still have a courser to kill, so I guess I'm in no rush." River made an attempt at laughter, a little too strained and tired to be convincing. "If you could just pass the word along, that I'm looking for some help, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'll do what I can," the doctor promised somberly. "If I may ask . . . how was the glowing sea? I was worried what you might run into out there."

River frowned, rubbing absently at a bruise above her elbow. "It was the bleakest place I've ever seen, and it's still probably not the craziest thing I'll have to do to get my son back. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I had to."

They left Nick alone to Irma's affection at the Den and retreated the blissfully short walk next door to the Rexford. When River tried to pay for the rooms, Clair held a hand up in reluctant refusal.

"Your caps are no good here anymore," she informed her in a clipped tone. "The room is yours on the house, apparently."

"Someone's making friends for me, is he?" River pocketed her caps with a scowl, shoulders slumping as MacCready coughed to hide a laugh beside her. "Well, thank you. And I'm sorry, I guess." She tossed her braid and climbed the stairs, grumbling under her breath. "The _nerve_ he has, telling me where I can't spend my caps."

MacCready's laughter finally broke loose, unrepentant even as she aimed her glare his direction. "You're cute when you don't get your way."

The cocky appreciation to his words had her blushing as she unlocked their room. "I just don't need more trouble in my life," she protested when he closed the door behind them, turning to pin her with that focused, familiar heat in his gaze. "I've got enough distracting me already."

"Oh, yeah?" he teased, drawing closer, close enough to feel his body heat and catch the curve to his smirk as he reached up to curl a hand loosely around her jaw. "If there's somethin' on your mind, I'd love to hear it."

She stilled under his touch, and he drank in the longing on her face, the teeth sinking into her bottom lip, dark-eyed with desire. "I'm dying for you, baby."

MacCready leaned down to kiss her, his hand still holding her firm. "Let me take care of you," he breathed, his voice parched and low. She backed him toward the couch with his shirt in her fist, and the rumble of approval he voiced felt like heat and thunder rolling down her spine. She was tired and hurting and she'd _missed him_ , missed this, missed having him to herself and letting those skilled, rough fingers of his ease the ache from her body.

He sank back onto the couch with a huff of laughter and caught her eagerly by the hips when she slid into his lap. She heard her name on his breath and nearly shivered at the sound, sighing into another kiss, his teeth and tongue at her lips as they parted. He wove a hand into her hair and gripped lightly at the soft strands, calloused fingertips dragging trails of heat down her skin. He worked the band loose from her braid and freed long, white tresses that slid like water over his fingers. The whimper to her voice made him smirk, arrogant and undeniably fond.

"Missed that sound," he breathed, dipping his mouth to her neck, testing teeth there and drawing out another shaky moan. The hand at her waist drifted higher, pulling her close, growing confident as he drank in all her little noises.

She breathed his name, and after his kisses, her voice was throaty and raw. From the groan he muffled into the curve of her neck, he rather liked it that way. He worked her pants down her hips, his teeth at her throat, just short of too rough, responding in kind to her urgency. His fingers hunted up her thighs to silky wet heat, and he ducked his head against her shoulder with a shaky sigh. " _Fuck_ \- "

Her hips jerked at the brush of his fingertips. She bit down on her knuckles, trapping a whine behind her teeth. "Please, baby." Begging came easy when he looked at her like that, touched her like her body held the key to his salvation, reverent and desperate and loving all at once. The world may have burned to hell around her but she had heaven here under his hands, his touch on her body like her favorite poem, and she would watch the world burn all over again before she lost him.

He sucked at her skin, hard enough to bruise and pull a shudder from her body. She traced her fingers down his throat, felt the pulse racing under his skin just before he parted her shirt and dropped his mouth to the dip between her breasts. The rasp of his stubble scraped at her skin, soothed over by his kisses, teasing gentle and rough in turns that made her ache.

"Please," she gasped again, half-whine and pitched high with need.

MacCready voiced a faint laugh, pausing to glance up at her, and she felt a little part of herself melt at the heat and hunger in his features. "Give you anything when you beg like that," he sighed, and fuck, she _loved_ his voice when it was lust-rough and wrecked, frayed around the edges with want.

River tugged at his shirt until he lifted his arms and helped her pull it loose. With a sigh of relief, she trailed greedy fingers up his spine, over the muscles in his shoulders, leaving little bites along his neck. His throat bobbed when he swallowed, and then he was kissing her again, her face cradled lovingly in his hands. They lingered there a moment longer before drifting down her arms, pushing the shirt back from her shoulders. She was dizzied and breathless when his mouth hunted lower, lips closing over her pulse point and leaving the sweet sting of teeth in her skin.

River fumbled at his belt, finally freeing the stiff length of his cock, and she whimpered into her teeth when he filled her hands, hot and hard beneath her fingers. She guided him between her thighs, over the slick, aching folds of her sex, her head falling back with a deep moan at the touch. "Shit, baby, I missed you." Her kisses grew clumsy as she sank down onto his cock, slow and easy, the moan catching in her throat. "Never again," she mumbled into his mouth, hips rolling a lazy circle that tore a groan from between his teeth. "Three days is . . . too _long_." Three particularly stressful days to be sure, but three was all it took to fall apart into that familiar gnawing need for him, that magnetic pull she could never resist, drawing her to him like a rising tide.

MacCready strangled out a laugh. "You can have me every day," he promised with a dreamy smirk. He bit his lip, the fingers at her hips digging in, guiding her deeper and watching her through hungry, heavy-lidded eyes. 

_I would. Oh god, I would fuck you 'til the world stopped around us._ River whimpered breathlessly between his kisses, savored his tongue at her teeth and the sweet relief of being filled. His palm was warm and certain at the small of her back, steadying each rock of her hips, pressing her closer, always closer, and somehow never close enough. "Love you," she breathed as he dragged messy kisses down her throat, dancing at the edges of coherency and desperate to get the words out before she lost them.

He lifted his head and met her gaze, hunger in the blue of his eyes. "Again," he pleaded, his voice abruptly very soft, fingers threading gently into her hair. "Please."

She kissed his panting mouth, his shoulders taut with strain when she wound her arms around him, gripping clumsy fingers into his hair. "I love you," she gasped again, falling into the words and his hands like a riptide, the moan he dragged over her skin. "Love you, oh _god_ , I love you. Always, only you."

" _River_ ," he whined, and the _things_ _he did to her name_ , it would never sound the same again. He bit out a grunt when her teeth edged into his shoulder, and thrust his hips up hard, coaxing her into a wordless cry. "Fuck, you feel so good." She felt his breath at her neck, drifting lower, then the heat of his mouth, wet tongue and teeth that wandered from one stiff pink nipple to the other. He dropped a hand to her clit and dragged his thumb in rough circles, too eager for finesse, but each pass of his fingers sent a twinge of heat and pleasure pulsing through her.

River sang and shuddered, her thighs trembling each time she slid back down and took all of him, hard heat sinking in, filling, thick, slick, tight, slaking finally that starving need in her. Her muscles ached in protest, threatening to give out beneath her, and she struggled desperately against her healing body. When her hips finally staggered and slowed, she dipped her head against his neck, gasping for breath.

MacCready nipped at her throat, easing her back onto the couch, and in a few breathless seconds he was between her thighs, hooking her leg over his elbow and pushing into her again. He watched the pleasure pass over her face as he filled her, muffled her cries beneath his lips, swallowed down every gasp and sigh that tumbled out. Her legs curled around him and she gave in to the building pressure, let it claim her fraying thoughts and fade out the edges until there was nothing left but the white behind her eyes and blinding heat, higher with every frantic beat of her heart. The muscles in his back tensed and coiled under her hands as he fucked her, salt on her tongue from the curve of his throat.

"Please . . . please," she keened, catching glimpses of that blissful edge hovering just out of reach. Her thighs closed in tight around him, tensing as she chased her release. He angled an arm between them and searched rough fingertips down her stomach, finding where she parted slick and tight around his cock with a deep groan. Latching his mouth at her throat, he traced jerking shapes over the bead of her clit, and his hips never slowed, rocking a hurried, urgent rhythm that arced through her nerves like lightning, curls of fire-bright energy that traveled her body head-to-toes with each wild thrust.

River clung to him with shaking white knuckles when she finally came, her voice rising and breaking around a wordless cry. Her eyes screwed shut and she shuddered through the waves of white static bliss, washing over aches and bruises and leaving only bone-deep relief in their wake. MacCready gasped when she clenched at his cock, biting a groan into her shoulder as he gave a few deep, urgent thrusts and came, driving deep and savoring the last twitching pulses of her around him. She came back down in a rush of breath and sound, clinging to him as the muscles in his body all relaxed and he sagged against her.

"Damn," he panted, still catching his breath. He trailed kisses down her neck, over the racing pulse at her throat and marks still tender from his teeth, dark on her pale skin. "You're right, we can't go that long again. It'll kill me."

River laughed, soft with relief, stroking lazily through his hair and enjoying the weightless pleasure that lingered in her tired muscles. "I don't intend to."

MacCready was calmer than she'd ever seen him as their heartbeats wound back down, an arm tucked comfortably around her waist. He found her hand and laced their fingers together, shaping circles over her palm with his thumb.

"Thank you, RJ," she murmured, and felt the burn of tears again, springing hot along her lashes. "I don't know how this all will end, but . . . I can handle whatever comes, as long as I have you."

"I plan on walking this earth with you until the day I die," he told her simply, with all the solemn confidence of a promise, doubtless and endlessly determined. Twenty-two years old and ready to promise her forever. RJ MacCready had to be the very last miracle left in this wasted world, her haven and home, and she would spend the rest of her days at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Come find me on [tumblr](https://vaultie-glass.tumblr.com/) for updates and fanart <3


	25. Preludes

_Mac -_

_I don't know where you found this stuff, or what you had to do to get your hands on it, but - holy shit. His fever broke the first night, and then the swelling started going down. Appetite's growing, energy's up. This morning he sat up on his own. I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it happen myself._

_I'm keeping a close eye on him, just in case. Switching off shifts with Charon. He told me not to get too hopeful, pessimistic old grump. You know I'm not the miracles type either, but I'm telling you, Duncan is getting better every day. The worst of the lesions are almost healed over. I think a few of them might scar, but with someone like Charon around, maybe he won't grow to mind them. His laugh has even cleared up. Sounds like yours, these days._

_I don't know what kind of "business" you have to take care of, and maybe I don't want to know. Obviously you didn't want to tell me. I can't imagine who might have helped you pull this off, or what you owe them in return, so just, please, get it done quickly and come home. And please. Please, RJ. Stay safe. _

_I miss you. Everyone misses you._

_You shit._

_Come home._

_\- Leah_

* * *

Preston Garvey studied the intricate and meticulously detailed plans spread out across the general's desk. When he lifted wide eyes back to River, she recognized in his expression the same shock that she'd been trying to process for days.

"We're . . . actually going to do this, aren't we?"

She offered him an understanding smile in response. "Teleport to the Institute, yes. At least, that's the hope. Do you think we can build it?"

After a brief moment of thought, rubbing his hand across the nape of his neck, Preston slowly nodded. "Tapp tells me he and Sturges can get it done, and I know where we can find the parts we need, but . . . this is heavy-duty Institute tech we're looking at. And the risks are. . ." His lips pressed into a tense line, and his eyes were soft with worry as he met her gaze. "We can't afford to make any mistakes," he finished in a firm voice.

Dogmeat nuzzled his cold, wet nose into the palm of River's hand, as if reading her unease, and she stroked lovingly at the fur behind his ears. He hadn't left her side since their return to the Castle, since he'd picked up her scent and bounded down from the front gates to meet her, licking at the tears on her cheeks. "I know what you mean," she agreed quietly.

"I'll get word back to Sanctuary. We're gonna need Sturges regardless, and the sooner we get started, the sooner we can see how things will play out." He was already falling back into familiar territory, muttering about search-and-scavenge parties as he jotted notes onto the clipboard in his hands, and she silently thanked whatever god might still be around for Preston Garvey and his dedication. She quite literally wouldn't have made it without him.

"Thank you," she said aloud, and the abrupt sincerity to her voice made him pause, looking up from his work. "For believing in me. For all your help, and . . . for everything." She smiled even as the sting of tears threatened to well over, grateful for these moments alone, when they could just be Preston and River. If only for a little while, simply friends.

"Can't tell you how glad I was to see you walk through the front gate," he confessed in a gentler tone, quiet and familiar. "I was worried about you two out there."

"I missed you, too." River dipped her head, reaching up to wind a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's really . . . really nice, having people to come home to again."

They shared easy smiles for a few heartbeats longer before Preston cleared his throat and started gathering his things. "I should speak with Tapp and have him radio out to Sanctuary Hills. I'll be sure to keep you updated."

"Thank you, Preston."

He stepped out through the heavy wooden doors with one last nod of farewell, dragging them shut and leaving her to the stillness of her empty quarters. She dropped into the seat at her desk with a thin sigh. Her heavy eyelids slipped closed as she paced her breathing to the waves breaking over the rocks outside, each slow, lazy inhale held and released with the drag of water lapsing back from the shore. When Dogmeat padded over and propped his head in her lap, she peeked an eye open and rested her palm on the back of his neck, murmuring fondly.

"You're my best and favorite boy, you know that? I'm so sorry I left you." She dragged her fingers idly along his fur. "I'm sorry if I have to leave again."

He licked at her hand with a low, mournful whine.

"Sweet boy," she praised him, and his tail wagged at the words. "Always looking out for me. Lucky me, huh?" 

Dogmeat's ears suddenly perked up, and he swung his head toward the doors just before MacCready shouldered one of them open. He met her gaze across the room and let the door close carelessly behind him, blue eyes intent, crossing the floor in a few long strides and taking her face in his hands as he kissed her.

River murmured in surprise before tilting closer, parting her lips at the first sweep of his tongue. His hands found her hips and dragged her into the circle of his arms as he sank to his knees between her legs. He kissed her until she was gasping and pink in the cheeks, ducking his head against hers when they parted for breath. She threaded her fingers into his hair, humming as the tension in his body slowly eased.

"Sorry," he breathed, pressing one last gentle kiss to the edge of her lips.

"Don't be. Not for kisses like that."

His mouth slanted into that smirk she loved. "I've been kinda out of my mind all day. I still can't believe it actually _worked_." The words were breathless and heavy and swift. "And I just kept thinking about how ready you were to help me, even though it was a long shot, even after everything you'd done for me already... and then I walked in and I saw your face, and I just..." He trailed off, glancing down at their hands as he laced their fingers together. His throat worked around a swallow. "I love you."

She lifted her hands to frame his face, cradling his jaw between her palms and guiding his gaze back to hers, where tears had gathered at her lashes and started to fall in warm trails down her cheeks. "I love you, too. I adore you. I never want to be apart from you."

"You never have to be," he promised, soothing tears away with the pad of his thumb, rough and calloused but his touch so very gentle. "We'll stay together."

She gripped him by the collar of his shirt and leaned in to enjoy a few more kisses, pleased when he eagerly returned them. "Always."

"I like the sound of that," he said against her lips, and his hands settled at her hips again, inching under the hem of her shirt.

Her head fell back, and then she felt his mouth wander searchingly down her neck, sinking in with teeth, and she hummed a regretful noise in the back of her throat. "Mmn, I really don't want to stop you. . ."

"Got work to do, I know." He tore himself away with a weak smile, though his eyes lingered longingly on the mark he'd bitten into her skin. "What did Garvey say?"

"We'll need some time and a lot of resources, but he seems to think we can build it. And I have to meet with Bennett and Rodriguez to plan out our courser hunt."

MacCready shook his head, that familiar teasing edge to his voice. "Can't just survive the glowing sea and call it a day, huh?"

"You know me, one perilous adventure to the next," she answered with a dry ring of laughter. Her nails charted soft paths along his scalp, and she could feel him shiver at the touch. "You should've cut and run while you had the chance."

"Probably." His smile spread into an easy grin, and the road had only gotten longer before them, but his confidence was catching when he smiled at her like that. "I guess something convinced me to stay."

River pecked the edge of his jaw and rose to her feet, drifting over to her vanity with Dogmeat trotting faithfully behind her heels. She studied her reflection in the fractured mirror, turning her face from one side to the other, lifting her chin to the woman staring back at her. Dim shadows still hung beneath her eyes, and she traced the shapes of wounds and scrapes not yet healed over, hoping they wouldn't scar. Her fingers were steady around the small silver tube as she lined her lips in violet, deft, familiar motions, easy as muscle memory. The way MacCready held a rifle in his hands. The way she'd learned to do the same.

She swung the dark blue coat over her shoulders, breathing in the smell of must and gun smoke and the melon blossoms that she'd tucked into the pockets. MacCready swiped her cap from the desk and wandered over to fix it into place at the crown of her head. His fingertips followed the silky white pleats of her braid, gentle as he freed her hair from beneath the collar of her coat.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, fond and lidded. "Did I ever tell you how good you look in that?"

"Oh?" She smirked and peered back up at him from under long, dark lashes. "The lipstick, or a dead man's coat?"

"Both," was his immediate response, and it earned him a delicate laugh. "All of it. Or nothing at all."

"Hmn. It's dangerous when you flirt back."

His laughter seemed to warm a little of the ache from her sore muscles. "You started it."

"I usually do," she agreed, sliding her pistol into the holster at her hip. "And I promise you I'll finish it later, but right now, my love, I have a meeting about a courser. Are you coming?"

MacCready briefly gripped her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers. "Right behind you."

* * *

The Castle had flourished in her absence, under the careful direction of Ronnie Shaw and Preston Garvey. As she emerged from her quarters and watched a group of soldiers march across the courtyard, River thought not for the first time that the two of them had done more good than she would ever be capable of achieving for the Minutemen anymore.

Maybe Preston would actually agree with her some day.

They cut across the courtyard, bustling with life around them, and River lingered to return salutes and nods that she received from passing Minutemen soldiers.

"General's back," MacCready teased under his breath, and she elbowed him in the side.

A head of sandy blonde hair lifted from above the radio transmitter, sunlight glinting off of two round lenses angled in their direction. "General!" Tapp leaned back in his seat and hailed her with a wave of his hand, grease streaked across the palm. "Glad to see you back in one piece." He sent a nod at MacCready, who returned it amicably.

"My survival continues to amaze, apparently."

"Just a wasteland thing," he informed her with a grin. "Laughing in the face of our own bleak mortality, you know how it goes. Anyone's lucky to get anywhere in one piece. Meant it, though. I am glad to see you. And those beautiful plans you brought back. I can't wait to get started."

She arched a thin brow at him, trying not to smile. "You're not getting antsy stuck here working the radio, are you?"

Tapp gave the transmitter a few loving pats with his hand. "Don't get me wrong, Radio Freedom is my baby, but a teleportation device to the Institute?" He sighed longingly. "It could be my magnum opus."

River couldn't help a laugh. Passion lit the vibrant browns of Tapp's eyes when he spoke. Rarely had she ever found such intensity in someone for their work, even in her old life. "All right, just keep the radio running for now, hotshot. You'll get your masterpiece."

"Aye, aye, General," he replied with a last flippant salute and turned back to the board of dials and buttons before him. "Seeya, MacCready."

MacCready waited until they'd stepped out of earshot to mutter, "I'm pretty sure that guy never sleeps."

"No, I don't think he does. Santos will scare him back to his bunk if he tries to stay up for too long."

Ronnie Shaw straightened as River approached, an infinitesimal shift to her spine and the set of her shoulders. "General," she greeted her briskly, making no small show of looking her up and down. "Damn if even the glowing sea couldn't take you down. Maybe I was wrong about you."

She swore she could almost hear the barest hint of grudging respect in the older woman's words. "I missed you too, Shaw."

With a weary sigh, Ronnie spun on her heel and led them through the chipped stone archways into the armory. She stepped aside to allow the general to enter first, and River would probably never grow accustomed to the change in atmosphere when she walked into the room.

Bennett had been hunched over the center table, pushing bottle caps across a map of the Commonwealth as Rodriguez hovered across from them, tracing the dark shape of his beard with an idle hand. Between them, Preston Garvey was just pausing in the middle of his sentence, stopping to smile at the sight of River in her general's hat and Minutemen blue.

The three of them immediately fell silent, and an almost uneasy edge drifted in with the quiet as they each gave a respectful nod and waited for her to speak.

River tilted her head high and addressed them with the steady smile she reserved for ventures outside her comfort zone, and stepping into her _general shoes_ most certainly strayed past that limit. "I need to kill a courser," she declared simply, meeting each expectant gaze in turn. "Who's with me?"

A wide grin split Bennett's face as they surged forward to clap her on the shoulder. "Just got back from the glowing sea, and already huntin' coursers! Shit, General, I'm with you 'til the end."

"We've got your back," Rodriguez added. "The Colonel was just filling us in. Something about tracking with your Pip-Boy. . . ?"

"Apparently coursers all relay in through the old CIT campus. That's all we've got as far as a starting point, but I should be able to follow the inference with my Pip-Boy's radio and track one down from there."

"CIT is mutant territory," Bennett noted, tapping a roughened finger over its location on the map. "Nothin' we couldn't cut through with enough firepower, but we don't want to spook our target in the chaos."

"If we try to move too many people at once, we're asking for trouble," Preston cut in. "I think we should scout them out first, send a small, quiet team, find out where we're going and what kind of obstacles we're dealing with. Then we can regroup and strategize."

Rodriguez nodded eagerly, turning to River with an earnest look. "I'm your man, General. My team and I have been scouting this side of the Commonwealth for months. We'll get you in nice and quiet, no problem."

"And once you find the little worm, my squad brings the fun," Bennett finished, and gray eyes sparkled with the excitement of a coming battle as they cracked their knuckles with two swift twists of their hands.

"And the noise," Rodriguez teased, and Bennett flipped him a finger in response.

"Quiet is boring. You little sneaks like to snipe everything dead before the going's good."

River found herself smiling at the familiar sound of their laughter. She stepped forward to study the map spread out over the table, tracing her hand along the Charles until she found her place. "Bennett, I want your team to wait here across the river. There's an old boutique on the other side of the bridge, we can use that as a base of operations. Rodriguez, I'm trusting you to cover us while I track our target."

"They'll never see you coming," he promised resolutely as Bennett grinned their agreement.

Preston set his shoulders and met her gaze across the table. "What do you need me to do, General?"

"I need you here, unfortunately," River told him with a sad smile. "Gather every resource we need, and make sure Sturges gets here safely so he and Tapp can start building as soon as possible."

Her second in command nodded dutifully in response. "I'll get it done."

"I know you will. Ronnie Shaw, keep my soldiers in line and the Castle on her feet while we're gone."

"Story of my life, General."

River glanced over her shoulder at MacCready, leaning quietly against cool stone and blinking in surprise when her eyes found his. "And you're with me," she finished in a firm voice, just catching the quirk to his lips before she turned back to the others. "I don't want to wait too long on this. I think we should move soon."

"We're ready when you are, _jefa_."

She heaved a sigh and cast her gaze down at the tattered edges of the old map. Her body still ached with healing wounds and a heavy, deep exhaustion she was only just beginning to sleep off, but this wouldn't be the first time she'd tested her own limits in this new world. "Two days," she decided finally. "We leave the morning after next, and depending on how late we reach the river, we'll plan our steps from there."

"Understood," Preston answered with a dip of his head. "You can count on us, General."

"Then let's get to work. We've got a courser to kill."

Ronnie Shaw cleared her throat as the others returned to their preparations, the sound of Bennett's raucous laughter shattering the quiet. "You got a minute, General?"

"Of course." River followed the older woman's stiff pace over to a nearby crate, where she shoved the lid aside and started searching through the weapons within, muttering under her breath.

"Had it here somewhere . . . knew I shoulda set the dang thing aside when I had it - a-ha!" Ronnie gave a grunt of effort and hauled a long, dark rifle from the crate, presenting it to River in weathered hands. "Spent the last couple weeks digging through all these old supply crates, and I finally found McGann's old gauss rifle. Figured it'll find better use in your hands than it's had locked up here."

The rifle felt just as heavy as it looked, and River's eyes went wide as she tested its weight in her hands. "Shaw, you've handed me an anti-aircraft weapon."

The major let out a bark of laughter, one of the first River had ever won from her. "Hell, it might work on one of them Brotherhood vertibirds, who knows?" she joked with a shrug of her shoulder. "It's heavy, but it packs a wallop. I'd like to see any courser walk away from that thing in one piece."

"Thank you," River murmured, exchanging a stunned look with MacCready beside her before smiling up at Ronnie. "I'm honored to use it."

She grumbled noncommittally in response, quick to dispel the amity that warmed her tone, if only for the briefest moment. "Happy hunting, General."

* * *

The sun hung low and bright over the horizon when they reached the rooftop of the old high school. Spring heat stirred up the buzz and chirp of insect life, and lazy ocean winds rolled in from off the distant shore, lifting at the ends of River's hair.

For once in her life, it was quiet.

She wandered over to the edge and gazed out toward the Castle, resting her hands on the crumbling cement barrier. The breeze carried faint traces of sea salt and brine, and she found an immense sense of comfort in something so familiar, unaltered by the waste.

MacCready leaned his elbows on the barrier beside her, their shoulders brushing, close enough to share his warmth and the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothes. _It's just him_ , she thought, admiring his face against the backlit sky. _That makes everything feel more like home._

He caught her gaze, and a smirk shaped his lips. "Hell of a view," he observed, too fond to pull off his casual tone.

River raised her brows at him in mock affront, but she couldn't hide her smile. "RJ MacCready, are you flirting with me again? I was under the impression you brought me up here for a shooting lesson."

"I can multi-task." With one easy swing of his arm, he slipped the gauss rifle from where it hung over her shoulder, and she envied how naturally the weapon seemed to fit in his hands. After a quick scan of the horizon, he jerked his head toward the other side of the roof. "C'mon, let's take this over here. Away from the Castle and all your artillery cannons."

Crumpled city streets stretched out below them, and MacCready lowered his eye to the scope, the rifle still as stone in steady hands. She could've watched him line up the shot for a lifetime. There was a calm and certainty to every minute motion, hairbreadth movements she could hardly track in his arms.

Finally he muttered an amused-sounding _perfect_ and lifted his head to grin at her. "Found you something. Take a look." His hands lingered on her arms when he passed the rifle over, correcting her grip to account for the weapon's weight - then, for a moment longer, to smooth a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear. He pointed off into the distance, toward the base of a raider den long cleared out. "See that metal gate down there? By the street sign?"

River peered through the scope, following his direction as he guided her, _a little to the right, in the windows of that store_ , and she almost laughed when her crosshair found the eerie, disjointed limbs of a pre-war mannequin.

"Found 'em?" MacCready asked beside her, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Yes, and I _hate_ those things."

"I know." He stepped in close behind her, and she felt the warm touch of his breath across her skin when he voiced a low chuckle. He cradled her arms in his hands to hold her aim level while she eyed two more mannequins through her scope, their off-white silhouettes bent into broken poses. "Aim for the one in the middle, and try to hold the trigger down before you shoot, let it charge. And get ready for the kickback."

There were a few heartbeats of quiet - of his body heat at her back and sea salt on the air - and then he dropped his mouth to the nape of her neck, planting one soft kiss there before he pulled away. "Show me what you got, General."

River drew in a measured breath, holding the mannequin in her crosshair while she charged the shot, and the rifle thrummed to life in her hands, winding up with a high-pitched whine. Her aim wavered briefly at the unfamiliar sensation, but she managed to right herself at the last second, and the weapon fired with a deafening boom that nearly set her off-balance. A jet of white-blue energy released from the barrel and found its mark among the mannequins, and the resulting explosion scattered charred limbs off in every direction as dark plumes of smoke began to rise from the impact.

"Holy shit!" she gasped in shock, ears ringing, and MacCready laughed when she turned back to him with rounded eyes, flipping the safety with trembling fingers. The stock had left a dull, deep ache in her shoulder, and she suspected strongly that she'd just added yet another bruise to her healing body. "This thing is _incredible_ , and absolutely terrifying."

MacCready took the rifle and set it aside without a second glance, bracing his hands against the railing behind her. He watched her hair catch in the breeze, his eyes roaming thoughtfully over her face, her throat, her collarbone, as if committing every inch to memory. "How's your shoulder?"

"A little sore," she admitted, and slowly, deliberately, holding her gaze, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder. And when she gripped him by the shirt and drew him closer, he met her in an avid kiss, raising his palm to the soft skin of her cheek.

"Thank you," she sighed, breathless when they broke for air, and he planted kisses down the line of her jaw instead. "You're a better teacher than you give yourself credit for."

He laughed low and rough against her skin, and a shiver briefly gripped her spine. If only she could capture that sound somehow, and save it for her stormy days. _I'll just have to keep him close instead._ "What did you say? I had to find the right student?"

"Mmn, something like that." Her voice had frayed under his kisses, and a rosy warmth had risen from his touch.

MacCready studied her face, and a crease folded between his brows before he cleared his throat, a familiar blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'll teach Shaun, if you want," he offered, and her breath caught in her throat at the determination in his words. "Not the gauss rifle, obviously, but - I mean, they've gotta learn at some point, right? I'll have to teach Duncan once he's older anyways, and . . . I just . . . _want_ to." His lips formed half a smile as the words began to run together. "Show our sons how to shoot, and how to clean a rifle. And I want you to show them how to be good like you, and raise them with your big, beautiful heart, and I want you to teach them Spanish, and -"

River dragged his mouth back down to hers, cutting him off with a soft moan. His arms curled tight around her, locking them close together, where she could feel his hands, his breath, his hold, and that unending promise, stronger with every beat of her heart.

 _Always_.

They took their time winding back to the Castle, strolling lazily along the waterfront as the sun dipped past the jagged skyline. The sound of jazz filtered out from the speakers in the distance, interspersed with laughter and loud voices, and string lights set a dim glow along the perimeter of the Castle walls.

"Preston put you up to this, didn't he?" River accused with a glance of narrowed eyes.

MacCready shot her an all too innocent smile. "Multi-tasking," he reminded her simply.

A round of cheers broke out when she stepped through the front gates. Minutemen soldiers filled the wooden tables scattered across the courtyard, and she stared out at the hands all raising chipped glasses and amber bottles in her direction.

River could feel her cheeks burning bright pink at the sudden weight of countless waiting gazes, but she fixed a smile on her face and raised her voice to address the crowd. "You've all worked hard, and fought bravely, to make the Commonwealth a better place. It's a long road ahead, but the Minutemen are only just getting started." Another bout of cheerful shouts and whistles filled the courtyard, and her heart jumped at the sound. "Enjoy yourself tonight, folks. You've earned it."

She retreated to the relative calm and quiet of Preston's table, where he'd saved two plates of brahmin steak for her and MacCready. "I assume I have you to thank for that," she said primly, dropping into the seat at his side.

Preston answered with a triumphant grin, and she just couldn't bring herself to hold it against him. "You were missed," he explained, shrugging. "Wanted you to see how much you mean to everyone."

On her other side, MacCready twisted the cap off his beer, lifting the bottle for a long, deep swig as his free hand hunted under the table to find hers, squeezing lovingly at her fingers. River listened to the hum of comfortable chatter around her, the road still so very long and difficult before her, but she wouldn't walk alone.

Preston clinked his beer against hers, the smile lingering on his face. "Welcome back, General."

* * *

The Castle lights reflected back in tinted lenses, voices and laughter ringing out over the open water. Deacon leaned against the hard stone wall and listened to the celebration, cheeriest group of people he'd heard in . . . hell, too long. Been a while since happier days, and yup, that sting still stung, but - hunch confirmed.

He'd had a good feeling about her. Ever since he watched her stumble out of 111 on shaky legs, threatening to fall with every step, but still strong enough to stand. He might've followed her anyways, just to see where she'd end up.

She left strange footsteps, River Bautista, some small, some subtle, hard to track but he could always tell she'd been there, little kindnesses and smiles left behind; others dire and momentous, like her brutal death march through Fort Hagen, blood and bone across gray concrete just gone cold, all the way into the big green ugly, where he'd been almost certain he'd lost her, disappeared amongst the rust and haze.

And now the Castle, where her Minutemen were cheering her return. He supposed she of all people deserved herself a victory, even if it wouldn't last, even if they both knew the world didn't work that way anymore. Maybe it never had.

Though he wondered what she'd say if he asked her.

He had a feeling she'd surprise him.

* * *

_Leah,_

_Things are okay here, so don't freak out. I don't want to worry you any more than I know you're going to worry already, so I'll just tell you that I wouldn't still be here if it wasn't important, and I promise you - and I promise my son - I'll be home as soon as I can. You know it kills me to be away this long. And I promise I'll be safe. There are some people looking out for me here, believe it or not._

_~~I don't know how~~ _

_~~I'm not good with~~ _

_I'll never be able to thank you for taking care of him, but . . . thank you._

_Tell the big guy I said hi. And all the others._

_Miss you guys too._

_\- Mac_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all angels with the patience of saints. Thank you for everything, and please accept my deepest apologies with this chapter, as always!


End file.
